LOST
by stress
Summary: How can you connect in an age where strangers, landlords, lovers, your own blood cells betray? – Rent [AU, Newsies adaptation of RENT] CH 13: Sunny Santa Fe would be nice...
1. Dec 24th, 9pm, Eastern Standard Time

Author's Note: _I have been sitting on this idea for, like, ever – and, since I'm actually going into the City in three hours to go see RENT on Broadway (yes, you can be envious), I thought I would finally start this baby. With the completion of A Virgin's Touch, I once again have my Wednesday's free. And, rather than taking one of my update-on-a-whim stories and setting it so that it's done on Wednesday's, I've decided to start a new one. _

_And what better sort of fic than a cross-over/adaptation-type dealie._ _Right? Enter _LOST_, an adaptation of _RENT _starring our boys – an AU taking place in the mid to late 1990's… Now, doesn't that just sound uber spiffy? Yes, I know._

_This first chapter is just a teaser, really. A way to gage the response – to see if people are interested in seeing my interpretation of Rent/Newsies goodness – short and sweet. Do you like the little taste of this story? Let me know – I plan on long (I hope) chapters, if the response is positive. Knowing me, I'll ride as far as I can on this wave of inspiration but positive reinforcement is a good thing. Eh?_

Disclaimer: _I do not own, nor stake any claim, to any of the original characters shamelessly borrowed from _Newsies – _they are the property of Disney, © 1992. Any other character, when noted, is property of their respective owner and will be noted in the disclaimer. The core idea to this story – the adaptation of the Broadway musical, _RENT, _is © 1996 to Jonathan Larson._

--

LOST

_How can you connect in an age where strangers, landlords, lovers, your own blood cells betray? _– "Rent", RENT  
Because one can never be sure if such a moment could be the last...

October 10, 2006

--

_December 24th, 9pm, eastern standard time, from here on in I shoot without a script… _

--

"Dave? What the hell are you doing?"

David Jacobs lifted his hand, the left one – the one not currently clutching the battered and nicked Nikon N90 – in an effort to hush his roommate. "Don't move, Jack," he said in response, cocking his head to the left, never removing the camera from in front of his bright blue eyes. He squatted low, aiming the lens at the pen the other boy was impatiently tapping against a virgin sheet from an open spiral bound notebook. Well, it was not entirely clean; there were countless drips of wax dotting the paper but, despite three wasted hours, there was not a single word written yet. Hence the scowl that was etching itself ever deeper into Jack Kelly's handsome face.

It was dark in their apartment (the top floor loft they shared in their grungy, grimy New York neighborhood), the only light coming from sporadically placed candles, such as the lopsided white candle perched on the scratched coffee table, right beside Jack's notebook. It was the flicker of its flame against Jack's hand that was creating such a great effect, to David's artistic eye. He just had to capture it on film.

_Snap._

"Can I move now, Dave?" Jack asked, sounding bored. The boredom was forced, David could hear; it was covering up the frustration that he was feeling just below the surface.

David, from behind the camera, stuck out his tongue but continued to watch the dancing flame. A chill wind blew in through the broken window on the opposite side of the room, lifting the sheet covering up and causing the flame to bend over almost sideways. In that moment, the shadow of Jack's hyperactive hand seemed to expand. It would make the perfect companion piece to the picture he had just taken. An almost before and after.

_Snap._

"I take it that that was a no, then." The frustration was beginning to eek out with Jack's new tone.

David stood up, rolling his eyes at Jack's impatience. One would think, after rooming together for five years, he would learn to deal with a photo-phile as a best friend. You _never _ask a photographer if they're done yet, or if you could move. It ruined the mood of the shot. But, taking Jack's attitude into account, David lowered the camera, setting it down on the coffee table.

He saw Jack's large brown eyes, darker than normal – the pupils had dilated at the bright flash – stare mutinously at his faithful Nikon and quickly scooped it back up. "What's the matter, Jack?" While Jack could get as bitchy as his sister had been during her time of the month, David could see no good reason why he looked like he was about to smash his camera. His camera was as a part of the family as he was. All of their friends would vouch for that.

In a fit of annoyance at David's seemingly innocent question, Jack Kelly tossed his black Bic pen down on top of the blank paper. He ran his hand through his shaggy sandy-colored hair before leaning back into the overstuffed floral print sofa that took up the middle of the loft. "What's that matter Dave?" he snapped, dropping his hand into his open lap, "Let me see. The electricity got turned off on us this morning," he said, jerking his head at the candle slowly melting before him – it was steadily dripping as it had been ever since night had fallen a few hours ago, "and, of course, the goddamn window is still broken. It's fucking freezing in here and, to top it all off, I can't even come up with _one _opening sentence for this damn story." He sighed and lifted his booted foot off of the floor. With a swift kick, being careful of the candle beside it, he knocked the book and his pen to the floor.

David watched with a raised eyebrow. He knew it had been a smart idea to get his camera out of Jack's reach.

Jack sighed, the breathe coming out in a relieved exhale as he finished his mini-rant. "You tell me, Dave. With all that shit going on, why should I pretend to be happy?"

"It's Christmas Eve. Be happy about that."

It was Jack's turn to look at David with an interested expression. He cast a glance at the boy standing before him, clutching his beloved camera to his chest as if it was his child. With his curly brown hair, fair skin and features, there was no way that anyone would believe that he was not the stereo typical New York Jewish boy. "_Christmas_, Dave?"

David shrugged, his lips quirking into a smile. "Hey, none of you guys are Jews. I figure I'd adopt your holidays in favor of mine. Besides, who can resist a fat jolly man in a red suit? Not me, that's for sure."

Despite his melancholy mood, Jack laughed. Sometimes, with the things that came out of David's mouth, he just couldn't help it. "I'll remember that next time you refuse to eat my cooking. Kosher, my ass."

Glad to see that, at least for the moment, Jack's gloomy mood was lifted, David joined in on the laughter. For that one moment, David could watch as his friend lost that haunted look, that depressed look, that '_lost_' look that had plagued him since… well, since it happened, since Jack learned the truth about his fate, since the day she died...

And, with the way things were going, and the way things were looking to be, David Jacobs would take those moments when he could get them. Even if it came at his own expense. Because, he knew, one can never be sure if such a moment could be the last.


	2. How do you document real life?

Author's Note: _Well, as I noted in the first chapter, this will be a Wednesday update story. However, I was so impressed with the reviews that I got with the first chapter that I decided to add another chapter this week. I figure, as an incentive to review, that I will update this story every Wednesday but, if an individual chapter gets 10 or more reviews, I will update it twice a week instead of once. If you like the story and want to see it come along faster, just review. Simple, eh? Also, if anyone is reading who replied to the CC, everyone will have a role – it'll just be a surprise as to what role you get. Our first OC already is mentioned, woot. Well, here's the next chapter. I hope you guys like it as much as the first. _

Disclaimer: _I do not own, nor stake any claim, to any of the original characters shamelessly borrowed from _Newsies – _they are the property of Disney, © 1992. Any other character, when noted, is property of their respective owner and will be noted in the disclaimer – Annie/Twister is the property of Zippy and is used with her permission. The core idea to this story – the adaptation of the Broadway musical, _RENT, _is © 1996 to Jonathan Larson._

--

_How can you connect in an age where strangers, landlords, lovers, your own blood cells betray? _– "Rent", RENT  
Because one can never be sure if such a moment could be the last...

October 15, 2006

--

_How do you document real life when real life is getting more like fiction each day?_

--

That moment, those few minutes when the boys could forget that they were facing a Christmas Eve sans electricity, was short-lived. Almost as soon as David perched himself (while still holding tightly to his camera – _just in case…_) comfortably on the edge of the second-hand sofa, the loud ring of their telephone cut through the apartment.

Jack groaned. "You'd think that, with the power being turned off on us, we wouldn't have to deal with that."

"Don't worry about it. Let the machine get it," David answered, making no move to reach for the phone. It was an old office phone they had gotten off of one of their old roommates; despite its age, it served their purposes – at the very least, it came with an answering machine and, given that all Jack and David ever did was screen their phone calls, it worked for them.

"I wasn't planning on getting the phone, Dave," Jack tossed back, relaxing into the folds of the couch. He appeared as if the ringing did not bother him in the least. "I was just trying to figure out why we still have a phone when we don't have anything else."

David rolled his eyes. "It's called batteries, genius."

"Yeah, whatever. We need to get these damn lights on batteries then. Then we wouldn't have to use candles when our _lovely _landlord decides to be a fucking prick," Jack answered, sneering a bit at the mention of Spot Conlon. Their ex-roommate turned landlord was the only one they knew that was messed up enough to cut off their power on Christmas Eve. The boys could only imagine what reason he had.

David did not get a chance to reply to Jack. He had much he could say, ranging from 'stop with the language' (which he knew would do no good; Jack could not help but use more colorful language when he was pissed) to 'Spot's not that bad' (which they _both _knew was a lie; Spot _was,_ as Jack put it, a 'fucking prick'), but the ringing had stopped. The answering machine had gone off:

_"Hi. You've reached the residence of David Jacobs and Jack Kelly. We're not here – Dave, what are you doing? You sound like such a pussy. Didn't I tell you that I would redo the outgoing now that Twister dumped your ass? … Jack, Annie did not dump me, per say. She needed some spac— She left you for a girl, Dave. That's quite a bit of sp— Jack? Must we discuss this on our answering machine?... Oh yeah, I forgot. Leave a messa—… BEEP." _

"Remind me to change that the next time you leave the apartment. If you _ever _decide to step out into the real world, that is," David muttered under his breath as he heard the rambling that was their answering machine.

Jack mimicked the serious way that David was slightly shaking his head. "Oh, so funny, Dave."

"Shh. I want to hear who called us," David shot back as the beep cut off Jack's 'attempt' at a normal outgoing message.

_"David? David, are you there? It's your mother. Are you two boys screening your calls again?" _The woman sighed before continuing in a high-pitched, New York accented voice. Even though Esther and Mayer Jacobs, along with their younger son, Les, traded their Lower East Side apartment for a home in the Northern Jersey suburbs after Sarah's death almost two years ago, his mother never lost her stereotypically nagging voice.

_"Well, if I know my son – and you know I do. I used to wipe your little tushy, remember? Ah, where did my baby go? Oh, that's right. He's standing in a dirty apartment with his best buddy, probably listening to me gush on and on rather than doing the decent thing and picking up the phone to talk to his poor mother." _

Jack could not hold back his laugh. Despite the dim lighting – really, what could a bunch of scattered candles due to illuminate an entire industrial loft? – Jack could see the beginning of an embarrassed blush sneak up on David. He was such a Mama's boy, trying hard not to look like her words were hitting home with him. Esther Jacobs was one intuitive woman. It was almost as if she was peeping in through their window.

_"But that's alright, David. I'm sure you mean well. Even if you didn't come home to celebrate Hanukkah with the family. Or call. Your father and I still love you. I assume you won't be coming home tomorrow either, then. We planned on having a nice big dinner and then going out to see a movie. Maybe that new one that just came out – somebody or other's 'List'? I think your father would like to see it. You can bring Jack along, if you like. He's family and we haven't seen much of him since… Sarah's accident…" _

David froze. Without even turning to his right, he knew that Jack had gone rigid and would be staring at the answering machine in disbelief. It had been two years since 'the accident' and this was the first time it was brought up in so casual of a conversation – and termed as such. _Accident_. Sarah's death could hardly be considered an _accident_. As soon as the girl, sweet, innocent, naïve Sarah Jacobs discovered that a one-night stand (during one of her and Jack's many splits,) had given her a disease, a disease that she, unwittingly, transferred to Jack after they got back together, Sarah ran out in front of a bus. Death was instantaneous; the police ruled it as an accident.

David and Jack knew better, though. She had left a lengthy note underneath her pillow, explaining just what she had done. The boys never told anyone else of it but there was no doubt: Sarah had committed suicide rather than live with the guilt of infecting the only boy she had ever loved. Jack often wondered how she did not know then that he would prefer to spend the rest of his days sick with Sarah than be perfectly healthy without her.

Unaware of the impact her words had, David's mother continued to prattle on.

_"Well, I'm sure your answering machine is going to run out of tape soon, so I'll just say Merry Christmas, dear. And don't worry too much about Annie. I always knew she was a little off. She doesn't know what she's missing with that new girlfriend of hers, if you catch my drift. Poke, poke." _She laughed. _"Merry Christmas, David." _

As soon as the message was _finally _done, David shook his head slowly. "My mother is a nutcase."

Normally, such a statement would have garnered at least a chuckle from the old Jack. But this Jack? Just as David had predicted, he was staring stonily at the answering machine. David could almost hear his thoughts: Jack was adding the phone call as another thing that was pissing him off that night. _No electricity, no story and a reminder that my girlfriend gave me AIDS and then offed herself. Wonderful. _

David stood up from the edge of the sofa and crossed the room, placing his camera down onto the small table that housed the phone. With an embarrassed laugh, he quickly erased the message that his mother had just left. He was sure that neither of them would want to listen to that again. It was hard to find the right buttons in the dark; he pressed one and, at once, he could hear his mother's voice – he had restarted the message. Before she could get any further into the message than _David? David are you there?, _David jammed his thumb on the next button. There was a quick _beep_ and the message had been erased.

It was silent for a minute before David tried to engage Jack back into conversation; any rapport they had had before the phone call was obviously gone now. "Well. That was weird." Jack did not say anything. He just leaned forward out of the sofa and began to play idly with the flame. David sighed and moved the candle out of Jack's reach; the last thing he needed was for the boy to burn his hand up – then he _never _would be able to finish that great novel of his.

Jack made a bothered noise and stood up. As he walked around the table, looking for the notebook and pen that he had impulsively kicked onto the sticky floor, David took his seat back on the sofa's arm. He tried again. "Seriously. How weird was that? My _mom_ was just talking about mine and Annie's sex life. 'Poke, poke'? What the hell was that? And if she thought that Annie was 'off', why didn't she tell me? You know?"

This time, Jack snorted as he scooped up his stuff and walked back around. He tossed the book back on top of the coffee table; the pen he placed behind his ear. "Why do you still call her 'Annie', Dave? You know she hates that. She wants to be called 'Twister'."

David smiled wryly. Even though Jack could not see it, there was a bit of mischievousness at home within his blue eyes. "That's exactly why I call her by her real name, Jack."

Despite his mood, Jack laughed again. He was trying so desperately to cling to his misery but, sometimes, David said something that struck him as funny – like admitting that the only reason he called his girlfriend of three years – well, ex-girlfriend now – by her real name rather than her adopted nickname was to piss her off. "And, yet, you were surprised when Twister ran off with Kara."

"Hey. I'm not that stupid. I know that she cheated on me. But that was always with guys. How was I supposed to know that she would finally leave me for a _girl_?" David almost could not believe that he was having this conversation with Jack. It had damn near crushed him when she announced two months ago that she was moving out of the loft in order to move in with her _girl_friend. And, here he was, on Christmas Eve, making the whole thing sound as if it was nothing. Maybe he was finally getting over her.

_Ring. Ring. _

Jack, who had been standing as he spoke to David, glanced over his shoulder at the phone. He shrugged and sat back down onto the couch. "Not it."

"Let the machine get it," David responded automatically. Then he remembered what happened last time when the caller had to leave a message and they had to listen to it. He would not put it past his mother to call back with something else she wanted to tell him; maybe it would be better for the both of them if someone actually answered the phone.

David stood up again and began to navigate his way over to the phone. By the time he got there, the machine had already picked up and he was, once again, treated to the rambling mess that was his and Jack's outgoing. He figured he might as well wait to see who it was that was calling.

_"… Leave a messa— …BEEP!" _

_"Jingle bells, shotgun shells, Santa Claus is dead… Rudolph took a 45 and shot him in the head…" _

David reached for the phone. "Blink?" he asked, speaking into the receiver.

He could hear the rich laugh of Hayden 'Blink' Moore coming in through the phone. "Are you telling me that Jack freaking Kelly actually got up off his ass and answered the phone?"

"Nope," David said, smiling though Blink could not see him. "Lazy bum is still sitting on his couch. It's David."

"Dave, I knew that. I was just testing you. How have you been, buddy?"

"I'm doing good, Blink. Considering… Hey – where are you?"

He laughed again. "I'm calling you from the payphone right outside of the building. Throw down the key, bitch. Let me up."

"You're back in town? That's great. Here, hold on." David pulled his keys out of his pocket and set the phone down. He jogged across the room, careful so that he did not trip over any of the crap that Jack left lying around, and approached the window. He peered downward. Standing right next to the payphone, underneath the streetlamp, he could see the top of Blink's blond head. He whistled. "Blink!"

He looked up and David could see that he was still wearing the eye patch that gave him his nickname; he had gotten into a fight back when they were all still in school – he had been trying to pick up a straight guy who was offended that Blink was hitting on him. His left eye was real messed up after that; he had worn a patch ever since. "Dave. Here," he called and, his right hand still holding the phone to his ear, he lifted his left hand up.

David tossed the key downward, totally missing the target of Blink's open palm. As Blink bent down and searched the pavement for the key ring, David hurried back to the phone. He picked it up off of the table and placed it back to his ear. "Blink? You find the key?"

He heard the jingling of his keys as a response and rolled his eyes. "Alright. I'll see you in a few," David added.

"Sur— wait, Dave. I might be awhile." The humor was gone from Blink's voice. It sounded a bit strangled.

"Blink? What do you mean, 'awhile'? Blink?" David asked, almost franticly. He could feel Jack's brown eyes on his back. The other boy was probably wondering exactly what was going on; as it was, he only heard David's side of the conversation.

But there was no answer to David's questions. The line had gone dead.


	3. Are you okay, honey?

Author's Note: _Well, last chapter got 14 reviews (WOOT!), so here is the next chapter. It's even longer than chapter two; I think that I'm looking at 3,000 words a chapter to be about the average, once I get into the swing of things. I'm _still _floored at the response to this story and I hope that you guys like the next chapter, too. And the same thing will hold true – if this chapter gets 10 reviews, then I will update again this weekend. Otherwise, I will update it again next Wednesday. I really (x a jillion) appreciate the reviews and, once I'm done being lazy, I will try to reply to any reviews that need replies. As anyone who reads my stories know, I'm really bad at doing that but, if you leave a question, I will definitely get back to you. Well, here's chapter three – enjoy! PS, any Diabo readers – I hope to have the next chapter out today. I've definitely developed severe writer's block on that :P_

Disclaimer: _I do not own, nor stake any claim, to any of the original characters shamelessly borrowed from _Newsies – _they are the property of Disney, © 1992. Any other character, when noted, is property of their respective owner and will be noted in the disclaimer – Rae Kelly-Conlon is the property of Rae and is used with her permission. The core idea to this story – the adaptation of the Broadway musical, _RENT, _is © 1996 to Jonathan Larson._

--

_How can you connect in an age where strangers, landlords, lovers, your own blood cells betray?  
_Because one can never be sure if such a moment could be the last...

October 18, 2006

--

_Are you okay, honey?  
I'm afraid so…_

--

There was a slight twinge in David's stomach as he removed the phone from his ear and stared at the receiver. "Hmmm…"

"'Hmmm…' what?" Jack asked, vaguely interested. In truth, he was much more interested than he let on but he was not going to let David know that. God forbid Jack started asking questions; David would keep him up all night talking if he thought he had an audience – definitely not what he wanted to do when he was quite content to wallow in his own misery. He had never liked Christmas, anyway.

David shook his head and set the phone back down on its cradle. "I don't know. I mean, that was Blink but—"

"Blink?" Though it was hard to make out through the darkness of the loft, a genuine grin had come to Jack's face. "He's back in the City? Man, I haven't seen his ugly mug in… how long has he been gone, Dave?"

"Seven months," David answered absently, shaking his head, as he crossed back over to the sofa. Once he had regained his perch for the evening he jerked his thumb back over to the phone. "It was just strange, though. Blink said he was just outside and—"

"I figured that much. You know, the whole throwing your keys out the window kind of gave that away," Jack said, cutting him off. He swiveled in his seat and nodded to the window. "Unless you were offering our keys to the electricity gods to get our lights back on."

"— I tossed him my keys… Jack. Stop interrupting me, alright?"

"Sorry."

He did not sound the least bit sorry but, at least, he did turn back to face David. David sighed and tried to continue in his train of thought. "Anyway… Damn it, Jack. Now I forgot what I was saying."

"Must not have been that important then," Jack said, shrugging.

David opened his mouth to retort that e_verything _he says is important but, before he could get out a word, the phone rang. Again.

_Ring. Ring._

--

David never had been one for aim. Blink could not help but remember how, back in the day, when they were all kids, Jack used to make David the catcher in their quick baseball games. As Jack figured it then, all he had to do was stand there and catch the balls Jack threw at him. Hell, even Sarah had better aim than him; after they finally agreed to let her play ball with them, she became their first baseman.

All this was running through his head as he searched the gravel for David's keys. His toss had missed Blink's waiting palm by about two feet and now it was up to Blink to find them.

With a triumphant grin, he spotted them. Quickly, before David had even returned to his end of the phone line, he scooped them up and straightened.

"Blink? You find the key?"

_Even Dave knows he can't throw… _Blink lifted his right hand and jingled the keys next to the mouthpiece of the phone.

He could almost here the mild annoyance when David spoke next. "Alright. I'll see you in a few." David always had been too uptight for his own good.

"Sur—" Blink began but was cut off when he felt a tapping on his worn brown coat. It was an old coat, slightly short on his gangly frame, and it smelled of mothballs. He was glad he had not needed to wear it when he was out in California – it made him itch.

He turned his head and looked over his shoulder to see who was tapping his shoulder. The only thing he could see out of his good eye was the glinting knife that was lifted up. The knife was being held by a goon with at least four inches on Blink; he had two lackeys, even taller than the knife-wielder, standing just behind him. Blink gulped. "Wait, Dave. I might be awhile."

One of the men flanking their leader reached forward and took the payphone out of Blink's hand and slammed it down before taking his step back. The shorter man nodded and seemed to rotate the knife slowly. "Give us your cash," he demanded in a low, grave tone.

Blink felt like he was about to piss his pants out of fear. He had lived in New York City almost all of his twenty-three years and never been mugged; he leaves for seven months and, on his first night back, he has some thug waving a knife around. _Great_.

There was only one problem, though: Blink did not have any money on him at all. Would these men believe him? Probably not.

Before the shorter man could do anything, Blink picked his suitcase up off of the sidewalk and swung as hard as he could. His swing hit the leader square in his chest, forcing him to drop his knife out of surprise. Blink let go of the suitcase handle and began to run.

Unfortunately for Blink, the mugging attempt seemed to rattle his brain. Instead of running toward the building for help, or even into a cross street, he found himself heading straight into a blocked alleyway. It was no surprise when he heard the telltale sound of his muggers' footsteps right behind him – or when one of the bigger brutes came up behind him and knocked him to the ground with one sound punch to the back of the head.

Much of what happened next was a blur. There was a flurry of punches and kicks and intense pain. Blink tried as hard as he could to fight back but that only enticed the men to hit him harder. The only good thing about the attack – if you can believe that there is anything good at all about such a fight – was that the leader of the other two either did not have time to pick up his knife or did not feel the need to use it. He may have gotten the crap kicked out of him but at least he did not get stabbed.

Once they finally beat him into submission and Blink was lying sprawled out on the cold concrete of the ground, breathing heavily in an attempt to deny the pain, the men each spit on him. But, of course, not before they raided his pockets and, upon finding nothing but an empty wallet and a subway token, stole his coat from his battered torso.

--

It was cold out, Connor Meyers knew, but it was still Christmas Eve. So, rather than head back home to his one room apartment, he pulled his wool hat down over his tight dark brown curls and tightened his coat around him. He continued to walk, carrying his empty plastic paint tub as he went. It was not really the money he was after that night but the feeling that he was spreading the holiday cheer. In his opinion, there was no better place to spread cheer than in the East Village of New York City.

He had been walking around the Village, pausing every few blocks or so, banging out a song on the bottom side of his tub. It may not be as classy as a real drum but, with the use of his wooden drumsticks, it sounded nice. And, besides, it was quite difficult to go door to door, singing Christmas Carols, in Alphabet City. He would do his share by drumming out tunes on the street corners. And if someone happened to donate some money… well, that was just a plus.

He decided, just as he hit Avenue B, that it was time to warm his hands up again with some more drumming. He removed the sticks from the waist band of his blue jeans before placing the tub on the ground, mouth down. "Here we are," he said to himself, noting the smoke that came out when he breathed out. It really was cold.

He had only gotten through one round of 'Little Drummer Boy' and 'Deck the Halls' – and made three quarters, two dimes and a couple of Canadian pennies – and was deciding on what to drum out next when he heard a noise. It was quite unlike the sound of the cars that kept passing by or of someone out for a brisk walk. To Connor, it sounded as if someone was breathing heavily and moaning every few seconds. He paused and listened harder.

"Fuck."

There was someone behind him, breathing heavily, moaning and cursing loudly.

Connor drew himself up from his knees, made sure that he had not missed any of the change passerbyers threw at him, and grabbed around the middle of his tub. He spun and looked into the side street that was behind him. If he squinted, he could make out someone walking from the ends of the alleyway. The person was doubled over, walking slowly. "Shit," the boy at the end said and Connor began to rush forward. No doubt about it, this person was the one he had heard – and he needed help.

The injured boy did not seem to notice him as he approached. Connor placed his bucket down a few steps away before tentatively walking over to him; the blonde boy was resting against a brick building's side wall. "Hey there…"

Blink flinched before lifting his head. For a brief moment, he had thought that his attackers had come back to finish off the job. But, as he made eye contact with the person before him, the only thought he had was: _He's an angel. I've died and gone to Heaven. _

His angel was an olive-skinned young man, around his age, maybe a year younger or so. He was wearing a white coat with a matching woolen hat that helped to make him appear all the more angelic. His hair was dark, almost as dark as his eyes, and he was extending a hand forward to him. There was a look of concern on his beautiful face. "Are you okay, honey?" His voice was as sweet as his face.

The pain came rushing back as he tried to take a step forward to his angel. The aching sensation was enough to remind him that he had not died – which mean that the boy before him was real. He let out an exhale. "I'm afraid so."

The angel shook his head. "I don't think so. Look at you." He had seen how hard it was for him to move so he moved closer instead. He gestured to Blink's split lip, where a faint trickle of blood was still making its way down his chin. "You're bleeding," he said, reaching forward to wipe away at the blood.

Despite the pain, Blink moved away from the angel's hand. He could not risk the angel being sullied by his dirty blood. "No, really. I'll be fine."

There was a brief moment when his angel appeared to be slightly offended at his movement before a look of realization crossed his face. "My name is Connor but you can call me Mush," he said, offering his nickname as a gesture of friendship.

Blink, most unlike himself, met Mush's friendly gaze shyly. "Blink," he replied, lifting his shivering hand (_it was cold, damn it, and those fuckers stole my coat!_) to his eye patch in explanation of his own nickname.

"You're freezing," Connor – Mush noticed before shrugging off his coat and offering it to Blink.

Blink did not take the coat. Instead, he glanced down at his bare arms. "Fucking muggers stole my damn coat."

"Then take mine, Blink," Mush said, still holding out the coat. He took another step closer to Blink. "Come, let me take you home and clean you up," he added. Blink flinched again and drew away but, at Mush's next words, he stopped and let his newfound angel wipe at his chin. "Maybe, after that, you can come with me to one of my support meetings. It's for people with AIDS. Like me."

Mush thought he might be giving too much away with his words but he seemed to get the impression from Blink that he might be suffering the same fate; at the very least, he knew Blink was attracted to him. Even though it was dark and he was obviously hurt, he had seen Blink looking him over appreciatively. Which was a good thing – he thought that the blone boy was quite good-looking in his own right, even if his face was covered in blood. "I won't take 'no' for an answer," he added, quirking his lips into a grin.

Blink smiled back, the effect being that he looked all the worse. But Mush became even more smitten. "I'd love to," Blink added. "Go with you to your meeting, that is. I could use some support with my AIDS, too."

"Great," Mush replied. "I mean, not great that you have AIDS but great that you'll come." He was rambling and he knew it but Blink did not seem to mind; at any rate, he looked happier than he had when Mush found him.

"Here," Mush said, offering Blink his coat again. This time, Blink took it and put it on. The coat, still warm from the heat of Mush's body, seemed to make most of the pain go away.

Or maybe that was just because it belonged to his angel.

--

"_Hi. You've reached the residence of David Jacobs and Jack Kelly. We're not her—"_

As soon as the phone began to ring David crossed the apartment – again – and reached for the phone, cutting off the beginning of the message. Assuming it was Blink calling back, he picked it up without even screening it first. He probably should not have done that. "Blink?"

"Mouth. How are ya?"

Inwardly, David groaned. There were only two people that he knew with the penchant for giving everyone they came across nicknames – Jack Kelly and Liam 'Spot' Conlon. Calling David 'Mouth', as in the 'Walking Mouth' because he never shut up, was one of Spot's. Everyone else knew that David hated the name – only Spot continued to call him that. "Spot. Hi."

"Spot's on the phone. Great," Jack called from the other side of the room. He had abandoned all pretenses of not listening to who was calling them. "Tell that asshat to turn the power back on."

David hushed him before turning his attention back to the phone. He just hoped Spot could not hear him. Somehow, he doubted that Spot would turn the power back on if he heard Jack calling him an 'asshat'. "I'm sorry, Spot. I didn't catch that. Jack was talking."

"Ah, Cowboy," Spot said, using Jack's nickname – another of Spot's. Jack, when they were younger, was always dreaming of taking off with Sarah to the city of Santa Fe, in New Mexico. Said he couldn't stand New York anymore and wanted to go somewhere where the sun was bigger. As a joke, Spot had started to call him 'Cowboy'; he thought the entire West Coast was made up of jeans-wearing, horse-riding, yippee-calling yahoos. He even bought Jack a cowboy hat the year he started dating Rae Kelly (of the Upper East Side Kelly's – definitely _no _relation to Jack). "How is our resident hermit?"

It was one thing for David to call attention to Jack's self-imposed exile from the real world – he lived with Jack and had to deal with him on a daily basis. Spot had no right. But, of course, David did not tell him that. Ex-friend and roommate or not, he was _still _the landlord. "He's fine, Spot."

"Good. Well, I guess I'll see for myself in a few. I'm on my way over now."

David was so taken aback by Spot's statement that he repeated it. "You're on your way over? Now?"

"What? Fuck!" Jack struggled to get to his feet – he was almost swallowed up by the stuffing of the old sofa – before hurrying over to the phone. "Spot's coming here? What the hell for?"

This time, Spot heard him. He laughed, using that condescending, I'm-better-than-you-nah-nah laugh he had. "Tell Jacky-boy that I love him, too. And, yes, I'm coming. Now. I need to collect the rent."

"Rent? What rent?" Jack asked, speaking around David and into the phone.

"Last year's rent. You know, the money that normal people have to pay in order to live inside a building in the City. You owe me."

"Fuck that," Jack shot back, angrily. He was glad to finally have someone to take his bad mood out on. "You told us that, when your daddy-in-law bought this dump, we didn't have to pay you shit."

Spot laughed again. "I'll be there in a few, boys."

For the second time that night, the phone went dead. And David promised himself that, next time, he would let the machine get it – even if it was his mother calling back.


	4. There might have been one tiny spark

Author's Note: _Holy damn. I was definitely not expecting seventeen reviews. I love you. Seriously – love you all. Every time I get a review, I squee. It makes me feel so appreciated and what better way to show your appreciation than to leave a little note about what you think of this story. :) Anywho, like I promised, last chapter hit the ten review mark, so I spent today working on this chapter. It's even longer than last chapter (aren't you all so very lucky). I'm sure you will all notice that the first part is not explicitly from _Rent _but I figured it sets up the whole Benny/Mimi relationship better. Trust me, this will not be the only creative license I take – hence the reason why I call it an adaptation. Woot. Same deal: Ten reviews equal a quicker update. Otherwise, I'll see you next weekend._

_This chapter is dedicated to those awesome people who have plugged this story or e-mailed me about it: Rae, Shoe, Pegasus, Echo and Zippy. That was so nice of you guys!_

Disclaimer: _I do not own, nor stake any claim, to any of the original characters shamelessly borrowed from _Newsies – _they are the property of Disney, © 1992. Any other character, when noted, is property of their respective owner and will be noted in the disclaimer – Shoe is the property of Shoe, Singah is the property of Singah and both are used with their permission. The core idea to this story – the adaptation of the Broadway musical, _RENT, _is © 1996 to Jonathan Larson._

--

_How can you connect in an age where strangers, landlords, lovers, your own blood cells betray?  
_Because one can never be sure if such a moment could be the last...

October 21, 2006

--

_There might have been one teeny, tiny spark…_

--

Spot ended his phone call with a satisfied press of the red button on his new cell phone. He checked the time on the phone's green screen (9:27 pm) before tossing it onto the seat beside him. He only had to sit there, waiting inside his red '93 Mercedes-Benz, for three minutes more. It was Christmas Eve and he knew that, because of the holiday, the club had shut their doors at nine (much to the dismay of most of their clientele). She would be out by nine-thirty.

Though he had parked on the side street, he left the car idling so that he could keep the car interior warm. The cold was for the bums without proper jobs, after all.

Restlessly, he ran a tan hand through his hair before leaning forward and pushing the car lighter in. He continued to fiddle about in the car, going from tapping his bitten fingernails against his knee to running his hands up and down the seat belt he was wearing. It felt like all he had been doing lately was waiting.

Time was going so slow. Only a minute had passed before the lighter popped out but it seemed more like an hour to the impatient man. He reached inside his long leather coat and pulled out his pack of Marlboro Lights. Spot removed a single cigarette from the pack and rested it on his bottom lip before placing the cigarette box next to his phone; he kept his cyan eyes glued to the neon screen of that phone. It was only 9:28.

Careful not to burn himself on the lighter, Spot brought the red hot coils to the edge of his cigarette. He breathed in deeply before putting the lighter back within its holder. He let the smoke settle in his lungs for a moment and exhaled it out through his nose. His lips were quirked into a rebellious smirk. Rae hated it when he smoked.

_Speak of the devil… _Just as soon as the idea of his wife – and the face she would make when she smelt the lingering effects of the smoke within the car – crossed his mind, his phone began to vibrate against the seat. He recognized the phone number at once: Rae was calling from the apartment.

_Shit. _With his left hand, Spot removed the cigarette from his mouth; with his right, he reached for the phone and pressed the green key. "Hello?"

"Liam, darling. Where are you?"

Even if his phone did not have caller ID, he would know that it was Rae just by the name she used on him. _Liam _– apart from Rae, the only person who called him by his birth name was his mother. He shook his head and ashed his cigarette out the semi-open window. "Hey, baby. I'm on my way over to see Jack and Dave. Get the rent they owe me." It was not _really _a lie – more an improvement on the truth. He _was _on his way over to Avenue B… he just needed to stop in front of the Kit Kat Club first.

"Oh," Rae said in response and Spot could imagine the way her cute little nose was wrinkling up at the mention of those two. She was not a fan of his old friends, especially Jack Kelly. In fact, it would be fairer to say that she could not stand him at all. "Well, then, when can I expect you back home? It is Christmas Eve. Can't work wait?"

"I'm sorry, Rae, but your father sent me to collect the rent. You know how much I'd rather be home with you, though, but I had no choice." He was getting a bit closer to the truth now. Mr. Kelly did send him out to collect the rent – the old man just never said to make a stop at the club. But it was not like Spot was planning on telling Rae that anyway.

Rae seemed to accept his explanation. At the very least, she did not press the topic any further. "Don't take too long, alright, honey?"

Spot took another drag off of his cigarette. He blew out the smoke while nodding his head. "Of course. I'll be home as soon as I can."

"Good." She sounded satisfied. "I love you, Liam."

Out of the corner of his eye, Spot could see that three women had just exited out of the front door of the seedy strip club. There was a fair-skinned girl with bobbed bleach-blonde hair and bangs that fell into her dark blue eyes. She was laughing loudly, rubbing her bare arms while walking sideways. She was speaking to a girl slightly taller (though that might have been due to the black stiletto heels she was wearing) than her, with shoulder-length dark hair done up in curls.

However, Spot's eyes were drawn to the girl that was behind them both. She was the shortest of the three and, though the leopard print coat hid it, unfavorably thin. Whether she knew he was there or not, she kept her head down, light brown curls hiding her face from him, as she followed the two other girls.

_It must be after 9:30_, he thought as he turned to watch as she walked. He could see that she had exchanged her work shoes for a sensible pair of athletic shoes; she was walking quickly and, if he did not hurry up, he would never get the opportunity to speak with her.

"Liam?"

He had forgotten that Rae was on the phone. "Oh… um… I'm sorry. What did you say?"

Rae sighed on the other end of the phone. "I just said that I love you."

"Of course. I love you, too, baby. Look, I just got to the apartment. I'll see you in a little bit, alright?"

"Sure. Goodbye Liam." She did not sound happy. He was sure he would hear it from her later on. _Oh well…_

"Bye, Rae." He waited until he heard the click that signaled Rae's disconnection before he hung up and tossed his phone onto the seat again. Then, replacing his cigarette back into his mouth, Spot undid his seatbelt and opened his car door. He made sure to slam the door tight; the sound caught the attention of all three girls and they paused.

The blonde recognized him first. She elbowed the dark haired girl in the side. "Lookie, here. If it isn't Mister Spot Conlon."

Her companion looked him over, her violet stained eyes twinkling like mad. "I wonder to what we owe such an appearance," she added, sounding quite amused.

Spot rolled his eyes as he took the final drag off of his cigarette. "Shoe. Singah." He greeted each of the girls in turn, nodding his hello to them both. As most of Skittery's girls down at the Club did, each of them preferred to go by a nickname – it made ties much looser if a client did not know a dancers' real name. Though that never stopped Spot before: he knew that Shoe was really a girl called Cassie, Singah's name was Kay – he just overall preferred nicknames.

Well, most of the time. He never referred to Rae as anything but her true name; he treated the third girl standing before him with the same respect. He turned to face her, not surprised that she was purposely keeping her dark green eyes away from him. "Jess," he said as he threw his cigarette to the ground and stubbed it out. "How have you been?"

She pulled her coat tighter around her. She kept her face anywhere but within his line of vision. "I'm good, Spot. You?"

"I've been looking for you, actually. It's been three months, Jessie. Where did you go?" It was cold outside but he would rather die than admit that he was shivering. His coat was not warm enough – he could only imagine how the girls were feeling. Shoe was not even wearing a coat over her work clothes.

The other girls, he could see, were torn between listening in on the conversation and continuing on their way. Shoe made the decision; Jess was not answering his question and, if Shoe knew the other girl, she doubted if she would speak to Spot at all. It had been a nasty break-up, after all. Jess had been all sorts of surprised when she found out that Spot was married. The idiot had forgotten to remove his wedding band one night and, though Jess was dense, she was not _that _dense.

Shoe elbowed Singah again and jerked her head. Singah got the hint. She patted Jess's shoulder. "Merry Christmas, dear. Don't stay out too long, alright?"

Jess nodded and awarded the girl a smile. "You too, Singah. And you, Shoe. I'll see you guys on Sunday."

"Definitely. Night, honey," Shoe added and, rubbing her arms again, she began to lead Singah away. Besides, if Spot tried anything interesting, she was sure she could hear Jess yelling at him as far as three blocks away.

Jess waited until her two co-workers were out of sight before she lifted her head defiantly to face him. "Trust me, Spot. I got as far away from you as possible. Alright?"

"That hurts, Jessie. I loved you."

Now, as far as she knew, the only person Spot Conlon had ever loved was himself. She sneered. "What do I care? Go home to your wife, Spot," she shot back. Then, without another word, she began to walk away from him.

"Jess, stop," he called after her. He did not just spend half an hour waiting in his car for the girl to just walk off on him. Jess, however, was not listening to him. He jogged a few steps forward and grabbed at her arm with his hand. "Stop, alright?"

She stopped but only long enough to jerk her arm out of his grasp. "Fuck you, Spot."

He sighed and pulled his own hand back. He was beginning to look desperate and Spot Conlon did not do desperate. She was right, after all – he did have a loving and beautiful wife at home. If that was true, then why was he running after this stripper? He did not know the answer to that but he _did_ know that he was not about to let her get the better of him. "Listen, Jess. I'm heading in the direction of your building. Let me give you a ride?"

She was surprised at the softer tone he had adopted. Nevertheless, she shook her head. "Sorry, Spot. No can do. I want to walk – besides, it's only a couple blocks away. I think I can handle it on my own. Don't waste this rare bout of chivalry on me."

His eyebrow raised and he crossed his arms over his chest. It was more a ploy to keep his body warm but, if the stance came off as disinterested, that was all the better. "Who is he, Jess?"

"Who is he, who?"

Spot smirked. "Don't play games with me. You're passing up the chance to go home with me. Who's the guy?"

Jess scoffed. "None of your business. Now, if you don't mind…" When Spot did not say anything to stop her this time, Jess pulled her coat even tighter around her and started to walk off.

Spot let her go, never saying a word to stop her from walking away from him. Instead, he was wondering what sort of man had stolen her attention away from him.

--

"I hate you." Kara Allen pushed her dark hair out of her face as she stood over the sound system. She had been fighting with the damn thing for almost an hour and, apart from finally finding the stupid on/off switch, she had not made any further progress with getting it to work. For the umpteenth time, she walked around the setup but it did not help. She still had no idea what to do with machine to get Twister's microphone working. "I hate you," she repeated. The black box seemed to be smiling smugly at her.

Frustrated, Kara began to push wildly at the buttons. She figured that, if she pushed each and every button, one of them would have to work. Right?

It seemed like a good idea – at least to Kara. Unfortunately, the idea went from good to bad in record time. Before she knew it, there was a harsh snapping sound and cloud of smoke erupted from the back of the machine. "Whoops."

Kara stepped away from the black box, her hands lifted up in frustration. "This is what happens when a freaking pre-med student has to work a sound system for her girlfriend. Her missing girlfriend at that," she added, thinking about Twister. Twister had promised her that she would stop by the lot and try to get the equipment running with her. But, surprise… No Twister.

There was a pay phone right outside of the lot, Kara knew. Reaching inside her khaki pants, she drew out a quarter and, once she made it outside, she slipped the coin inside the slot. After dialing Twister's home phone number, she crossed her fingers as it began to ring. She hoped that Twister was home to answer the phone.

She was not surprised when Twister's answering machine picked up. She had gotten the bad habit of screening her calls (if she was even home – one could never tell where Twister was) from her ex-boyfriend, that dud David.

As soon as she heard the beep, Kara began to ramble. "Twist. It's me, Kara. I… uh… I was just wonder where you are, honey. I'm down at the lot and, well, I've been waiting for you. There's bee—"

"Kara? That you?" Twister had picked up the phone.

Kara had to fight the urge to sigh in relief. "Hey, baby. How are you?"

"I'm doing good. Um… Kar? Where are you?" Twister sounded confused.

_You've got to be kidding me… _"Where am I? Where do you think I am? I'm at this lot of your's. I've been down here all night, working on this equipment. That's where I am."

"Oh. That's right. Sorry about that, dear. I meant to stop by and tell you but I was working on my performance. I just got home. How is it going?"

Kara hesitated for a moment. She remembered one of the reasons behind her phone call. "Well…"

"Well? What does 'well' mean?"

"Well… there may have been one teeny, tiny spark," Kara admitted. "But don't worry about it. I'll have it working for Monday. Promise."

It was Twister's turn to hesitate. "Kara, I have an idea. Why don't you let me call Dave? He's real good with stuff like that. I'm sure he'd be more than happy to help me out if you let me ask him."

"No, Twist. Don't call David," she said quickly. Just the idea of asking David Jacobs for help left a poor taste in her mouth. "I'll handle it myself."

Twister sighed. "Of course. Whatever you say, Kar. Come home soon, alright?"

"Let me just clean up my mess and I'll be on my way."

"Good. Bye, love."

"Goodbye," Kara replied before hanging the phone up. She felt much better now, strangely enough, but that was to be expected. There was just something about Twister – no matter how annoyed Kara was, just one conversation with Twister and her normally good mood was restored.

--

Despite Spot telling him over the phone that he would be over in a few, it was not until ten of ten that David heard the tell tale sound of a car driving down his side street.

"Spot's here," David announced, quite unnecessarily. Jack must have heard the car, too. With that one broken window of their's, it was almost impossible to miss anything that was happening out on the street.

Jack, who had turned his attention back to his notebook following Spot's phone call – dealing with Spot Conlon always gave him some inspiration to write angst-filled pieces – looked up from his work. "Whoopee. Let's break out the party hats, eh, Dave? Or, since it is Christmas Eve, let's hang the mistletoe. Maybe then I can get Conlon to kiss my ass."

"Mature, Jack, real mature," David muttered as he crossed the room again, this time heading towards his door. He knew it was only a matter of time before Spot made his way to their loft. He might as well open the door for him now. He opened it wide before heading back, taking the seat next to Jack.

David was right. Not much longer after he sat down (and tried to steal a peek at whatever it was Jack was writing), he heard footsteps.

"Knock, knock."

Jack did not even bother to look up. "Nobody's home."

"Jack," David said warningly as he shook his head. He stood up and waved to Spot. "Come on in."

"Thanks, Mouth," Spot said as he stepped inside. He ignored the clicking sound that came from David as he made his way over to the sofa in the center of the loft. He stopped right in front of the coffee table, allowing the wooden structure to act as a buffer between him and Jack. Just in case. "Hey, there, Jacky-boy. How are you?"

Jack snorted and placed his pen down on top of his notebook. "Spot," he said, nodding. "Sorry about the darkness in here. Strangest thing, you know. Electricity just cut out on us this afternoon for no reason."

Spot laughed and held up his hands in a semblance of faux innocence. "Hey. Got your attention, didn't I?"

"Yeah. Now what do you want to say now that you've got it. Hmmm?"

"C'mon, Cowboy. You give me no credit. Maybe I just wanted to wish you both a Merry Christmas. Did you ever think of that?"

Now, one knows that something comes out as incredibly insincere when David Jacobs has a hard time controlling his straight face. Luckily for him, Spot's attention was on Jack instead. Jack did not even offer any of his witty comments – he kept his mouth shut for that one. It was no fun when Spot set him up.

Spot laughed again. "Alright. You got me. I came for the rent."

"I told you, Spot. We're not paying," Jack answered. "You told us we were taken care of. Don't go back on your word."

"It's not up to me anymore. Mr. Kelly—"

"Your father-in-law."

"Yes, Jacky-boy. My father-in-law," Spot answered. He waited to see if Jack was going to interrupt him. When he did not, he continued. "He heard about Twister's little performance set up for Monday. He knows that she used to live here and in order to try to control her, he sent me to get the rent. But—"

Jack leaned forward and gestured around the loft. "I don't know if you noticed but after Twist dumped Dave, she moved out."

Spot paused. "Twister dumped Dave? When?"

"Two months ago. Left him flat."

"Jack, I—" David began, trying to shut Jack up. The last thing he wanted was for Spot to hear what happened to him. He could just imagine what sort of nickname Spot would come up with him then. As if Mouth was not bad enough…

But Spot's interest had been piqued. "Twist got a new man? Damn, I would have thought that you two would have been the next to get hitched. Who is he?"

David was not quick enough. He tried to reach forward and cover Jack's mouth but the two syllables were out before he had even taken one step closer to his roommate. "Kara."

The way that Spot laughed reminded David of how he used to be when he lived in the loft with him, Jack, Annie and Blink, long before Rae Kelly's money turned him into such an (courtesy of Jack Kelly) asshat. The way that he continued to laugh at David's misfortunes, cemented the fact that Spot had, indeed, fully crossed over to full asshat-dom. Hell, in Dave's opinion, he was the Mayor of all that was asshatiness. (_Man, I think I'm spending too much with Jack. He's beginning to rub off on me…)_

"But what?" David asked, interrupting Spot's loud laughter. He was getting tired of playing ping-pong, watching as the conversation bounced between the two other men. Besides, if Spot was trying to help them out, it might be good to listen to what he had to say. And, if it took the attention off of him, Twister and Kara, that was even better. He was _not _like Jack.

When Spot finally got himself under control, tucking that bit of information away until he could come up with some snazzy new name for Dave, he returned to the subject matter at hand. "_But_ I have an offer to make to you both. Listen, I need a favor."

"Of course you do," Jack said, rolling his eyes. Whenever did Spot Conlon do something for someone without keeping his own interests at heart?

David shot Jack a look. Jack ignored it. David sighed and turned his head back to face Spot. "What's the favor?"

"Convince Twister to cancel her little show. She's trying to make a fool out of Mr. Kelly and he won't stand for it. Get her to give it up and you won't owe me a dime."

Jack snorted again. "It's such a shame, too. We don't even have five cents let alone ten. It's going to be interesting, eh, Spot?"

David sighed. He may agree with Jack but, sometimes, David wondered what life would be like if his best friend was not so difficult. He looked over at Spot. "What Jack means is that we can't do that. You want to stop Annie, you're going to have to do that on your own."

"Alright then, that's your loss. I'll expect the rent before January 1st," Spot said, shrugging. Something about his manner told the other two that he had been expecting them to decline his offer; he did not try to argue with them at all. "Now, if you don't mind, I have to be on my way. My wife has been expecting me," he added, stressing the word 'wife'. He smirked one last time before heading back across the room. He stopped right at the open door. "Think it over, boys. If you just do what I asked, things will work out better for you. Trust me. You'll see." And, with that, he left.

It was quiet in the loft for a minute. In fact, it was not until they could make out the faint sound of Spot's fancy new car starting up that David attempted to break the awkward silence that had filled the room. With his hands stuffed into his loose and baggy jeans, David walked over to the broken window and, after lifting the sheet covering up, he looked out into the dark New York streets. He cast his glance around and turned back to face Jack, the sheet flapping down behind him. David was not surprised to see that he was hunched over, writing in his notebook again. After his last encounter with Spot, Jack's inspiration had tripled and he was writing like mad.

David shook his head. "Hey, Jack?" Jack grunted in an indication that was listening. "Where the hell did Blink go?"


	5. Familiar? Like your dead girlfriend?

Author's Note: _Dude, I am so pooped right now. I don't think I've ever had a chapter this long so, seriously, please enjoy it. You guys put out the reviews (12 last chapter, woot) so you guys deserve this chapter. I want to make a quick note though: some of the dialogue will sometimes resemble lyrics from the songs. That's only because I'm trying to put up parallels but, hopefully, you guys can tell the difference between what is original and what is blatantly ripped off from RENT. And, speaking of ripping stuff off, the poem-type dealie at the end of the chapter is totally stolen. I'll give credit next chapter. First I want to see if anyone knows where it came from. Cookies to anyone who knows. Woot._

Disclaimer: _I do not own, nor stake any claim, to any of the original characters shamelessly borrowed from _Newsies – _they are the property of Disney, © 1992. Any other character, when noted, is property of their respective owner and will be noted in the disclaimer. The core idea to this story – the adaptation of the Broadway musical, _RENT, _is © 1996 to Jonathan Larson._

--

_How can you connect in an age where strangers, landlords, lovers, your own blood cells betray?  
_Because one can never be sure if such a moment could be the last...

October 25, 2006

--

_You look familiar…  
__Like your dead girlfriend?_

--

Jack lifted his head up from his work and shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe he's still looking for the keys you threw, Dave. You never were a good shot. For all we know, Blink's down there on his hands and knees looking for your keys."

David faked a short laugh before shaking his head. "Real funny, Jack. I'll have you know that I only missed him by a bit. He had the keys in his hand before he hung up the phone, so there. And, besides, I just checked outside. He's not there." But, just to be on the safe side, David lifted the sheet back up and looked past the jagged edge of the broken window so that he was gazing down into the street. He nodded to himself. "Nope, he's definitely not down there."

"Well, then, go look for him," Jack said simply before bringing the tip of his pen to his lips. He chewed on it for a second, looking quite thoughtful, before leaning back over and scribbling again. He did not look concerned at all that Blink arrived at the apartment building almost an hour ago and still had not made his way up to the loft. He was too preoccupied with his work.

David, however, was very concerned. "Maybe I should. I mean, who knows? Blink could be lying in the gutter somewhere, bleeding to death, calling out to his only friends – us. Or, maybe, someone saw him outside and decided to make him their pet or something. You know, maybe they shoved him a car and Blink-napped him to make him their own personal sex slave. They might have a box waiting for him somewhere and we're letting the car get further away by not worrying about him. I read about that happing to someone once. But it was a girl… and in California. But maybe it's happening to Blink now. You don't know."

The more David stood there, his blue eyes straining to see if there were any signs of foul play on the street below, the more nervous he got. His imagination was working on overdrive, coming up with every insane possibility; it did not help that one of his hobbies was researching crime journals – they just made all the possibilities gory and murderous. And perverted.

"Dave, you sound like your mother," Jack replied, sighing heavily as he sat back up again. He could not think with David prattling on and on about something or other. He lifted his pen up and rested it behind his right ear. Then, with his free hand, he pointed to the still open door; Spot had neglected to close it behind him. "If you're that worried about Blink, the door's open. Honestly, just go look for him. He's a grown man, though. I'm sure he's fine. I mean, if I know Blink, he's probably out getting some ass right now."

"Yeah, Jack," David scoffed, backing away from the window, letting the sheet fall again. "Blink was calling us from the payphone outside but stopped just so he could go get a booty call. Right…"

"Dave," Jack said, his voice purposely void of emotion, his eyes wide as if highly disgusted. "Do not say 'booty call' in front of me ever again." He could not keep his voice straight and it cracked as a chuckle fought its way out. "My ears are burning."

David rolled his eyes. It was never good to deal with Jack when he was in these sorts of moods. Add his mother's phone call, Spot's unexpected (and less than pleasant) visit and the fact that Blink was missing and God only knew where the hell he went, and David's nerves were shot. Pointedly ignoring Jack – he could see out of the corner of his eye that Jack had stopped in his writing and was waiting for David's return in their banter – David went in search of his jacket. If he was going to go looking for Blink, he was not going to freeze doing it.

"So you're actually going to give into your paranoia and go looking for Blink?"

David shrugged on his brown overcoat before glaring at Jack. "Yes. You're welcome to come if you want. I might need help identifying his mangled body."

Jack laughed, a rich hearty laugh at odds with his earlier attitude. He shook his head. "No thanks, Dave. I think you got that one covered."

"Alright. Hopefully I won't be gone too long. Behave." David cringed as soon as the words were out of his mouth. _I really do sound like my mother. Oh, well. Jack deserves it. _David pointed at him as he retrieved his camera. "And don't forget to take your pills."

"Okay, _mom_," Jack tossed back, crossing his eyes though he knew David, with his back turned as he headed towards the door, could not see him. It made him feel better though; if David was going to treat him like a child, he was going to act like one. "Take a picture of Blink's dead body for me. Maybe it would make me feel better about myself."

David's answer was a derisive snort as he hurried out of the loft. He really was worried that something had happened to Blink; Jack's morbid sense of humor did not help him.

Jack shook his head again. _And people think I'm the weird one just cause I like to stay inside…, _he thought as he reached forward and grabbed his notebook. Depending on how long it took for David to find Blink, fuss over him and make sure he was alive, Jack might as well use the time to work on his writing.

He held the open notebook with his left hand; with his right, he lifted up a candle and placed it before the page so that he could read what he had written. He was trying, as he had been trying for two years now, to write a great novel that would exist long after he perished. He would dedicate it to Sarah, he vowed, and would call it 'Lost'; that one word alone would suffice to describe his entire life – and, yet, after two years, all he had was the title.

It was to be a book which expressed all the emotion that he kept bottled inside but he had not made any progress on it. Oh, he had pages upon pages filled with his loose and flowing script but none of which he wanted to leave behind as the very essence of who Jack Kelly was. There were short stories and novellas, poems and ballads but nothing that made him proud. Nothing that he wanted to use to personify his wasted life.

His time was running out; he did not know when he could go only that it was possible that it could be any moment. He could take his pills, his AZT as David often reminded him to do (as if he could ever forget; Sarah may have given in but he was a fighter), but how long would the medicine last? How long before the disease took over?

Two years and he had nothing to show for it but anguish, a thinning temper and forty-two broken pens.

Jack sighed again. His stomach was beginning to churn again, the familiar sense of nausea rising up. He was on a deadline only he did not know when his work was due – and he hated that. Careful not to drip wax onto the sofa (not like anyone would notice an additional stain on the old couch), Jack stretched his arms, loosening his muscles. If he tensed up, he would never be able to finish any more writing that night. And what good would it be to waste a perfectly good bout of angst, thankfully donated by Spot Conlon?

He rolled his head back and forth, relaxing his neck muscles, before lifting both the candle and his paper back up to his brown eyes. He moved his lips as he began to read the words he had jotted down following Spot's phone call. They were more of a description of emotions rather than any sort of story; he had planned on working on a short story – devoted to Christmas maybe – but had not been able to even come up with an opening sentence after hours of work. But, one phone call from that asshat, and negative and rough adjectives flowed like water. But that's all they were – descriptors.

"No, no, no," he said out loud, mumbling under his breath. "I can't do anything with this," Jack continued, roving his eyes over the page. Really, considering he was the one who wrote all that down, it irked him that he could make nothing of it. "Damn it," he muttered as he tossed the notebook beside him on the sofa. He knocked the pen out from behind his ear and set the candle back down (he might have been annoyed with himself but he wasn't stupid enough to throw a lit candle down atop of a wooden coffee table).

"Forget it," he grumbled, as he stood up from his seat. It may not be late, but it was dark and, since David had left, it was quiet. He might as well go to sleep if he was not going to be able to get any _good _writing done.

And that's when someone knocked at the (obviously) open door.

Assuming it was David, he did not even turn around. "What did you forget, Dave?"

But it was not David. It was a girl; at least, the voice that answered him was feminine, if not sultry. "Hey. Got a light?"

--

Despite the cold, the walk to her small one room apartment did not take long. There was something about a good argument – especially with a no-good ex-boyfriend – that warmed her up and, before she knew it, she had arrived just outside the building. She entered it, still silently fuming over the nerve Spot had had. Three months after she learned that he was married (_married!_), he had the audacity to come around to the Kit Kat Club as if nothing had happened between them.

Jess huffed as she all but ran up the stairs to her fifth floor apartment. She was glad that she had exchanged her heeled shoes for sneakers; after the last time one of her neighbors complained at the noise the clicking shoes had made – complain meaning that they threw a rotten tomato at her as she ran by, calling her to 'shut the fuck up… I'm sleeping here' – she preferred to wear noiseless shoes on her way in and out of the building. That and it made it easier to run in case she met someone seedy on the streets. She was a stripper, after all, not a prostitute. Not many tourists (and some locals, for that matter) could tell the two professions apart.

She shook her head, her long curls swaying as she made it to her door. She retrieved the key out of her faux fur coat and roughly shoved it into the lock on her door. One of her boyfriends, maybe one or two before Spot, a big brute called Oscar, had grown angry at her one night and busted her lock. Ever since then she had to jiggle the key in the hole for a few seconds until she felt the gears inside give way. Only then could she get inside her apartment.

Though her anger had kept her warm on the walk home, her anger did nothing for her eyesight. As soon as she entered the apartment, Jess saw that it was much darker than normal inside. And cold. Very cold.

She cursed under breath and fumbled alongside the inner wall, looking for the light switch. When her fingers found it, she flipped it once. And then again, her fingers frantically flipping the switch up and down until the truth dawned upon her. "Shit," she muttered, louder this time. The electricity had been turned off. And no electricity meant no plug-in heater. "I'm going to freeze tonight," she complained to herself as she blindly started to walk into the room. However, even though she was wearing Keds, she stumbled on her third step, tripping over a pile of clothes she had resting there. She did not fall all the way to the ground but her annoyance doubled anyway. "That's if I don't break my neck first," she added, clumsily regaining her balance.

Jess remained standing in one spot, not daring to move until her green eyes could grow adjusted to the darkness. It was then, as she was standing there, that she got an idea. A wicked idea. A wickedly amusing idea. She just needed one or two things first…

Slowly, Jess removed her leopard print coat and added it to the pile of clothes that had tripped her. Then, once she was sure she could make it into her quaint kitchen without killing herself, she started to go through one of her kitchen drawers; it was the drawer she called 'the crap drawer' and, as it's name would imply, it contained all sorts of knickknacks and things she might need at any given moment.

Her fingers felt the cold steel of a pair of scissors, rustled across countless expired coupons that she had never had the chance to use, and wrapped themselves up in useless bits of strings and tangled rubber bands before she felt the cool waxy texture of the object she was looking for: a candle.

Jess removed the half-used candle from the drawer and tapped it gently against her cheek as she allowed herself to adopt a coy smile, though no one was there to see it. She had been trying to find a suitable way to introduce herself to that handsome man that lived above her but, apart from running across him in the stairwell a few times, the opportune moment had never presented itself – especially now that she was single again.

Could tonight be that moment?

_It just might…_

But, before she left her apartment, she reached her free hand back into the drawer. She reached for the first paper her fingers found and brought it out. She set it on the counter before pulling a pen out of the same drawer.

It did not work at first but, after scribbling on the back of her hand, the ink began to flow. She put the pen to the paper and wrote down seven digits. Right below that, she printed her full name, using a little heart to dot the 'i'.

"There," she said to herself, sliding the paper into the right hand pocket of her skirt. It nestled right beside a little baggy that was already occupying the cove. "Alright, Jessie, let's go say hello to our neighbor," she added, rolling the candle between her palms.

After all, she did not want to look too desperate or come on too strong. But, after the way that Spot had just treated her, she thought it was high time that she proved to him that she did not need him. Besides, the mystery man who lived in the loft above her was much more handsome that Spot Conlon.

--

Carefully, Jess made her way out of her apartment and, rather than enter the hallway, she headed straight for the stairwell. From her careful observations she knew that he lived one floor above her with one person; it had not always been that way, though. She had been living in her apartment for almost eight months and, back when she moved in, there were four people who lived in that loft: a loud, pretty woman; a handsome (but totally and obviously gay) blonde man with an eye patch; a dorky-looking man with curly hair who, whenever she saw him, always seemed to have a camera with him; and the man she was crushing on.

Over the course of the time she lived below them, she noticed that two of the roommates had left: first the man with the eye-patch and then the only woman that had lived there. That left the dork with camera and the handsome man. If she did not know any better, she would have thought the two remaining men to be a couple but, from what she had learned, it turned out that the woman had been dating the dorky man; their relationship must have ended when she moved out.

The man she had her eye on, a tall looker with sandy brown hair and chiseled features, was actually a friend of Spot's (_Spot had called him Jack. I remember. He got mad when I said the name Jack was ten times better than Spot)_. During their brief fling, Spot had told her all about his friends from the building – he, too, had lived with them in their loft before he, as he put it, came into money and bought the building.

Jess paused on the steps, a few away from the floor above her, as she let her thoughts fall back on Spot. She could just imagine how he would have looked if she admitted to him outside of the Club that the man she was referring to was his old friend. Spot had taken great pains to keep her from meeting his old friends; she now understood that it was because he did not want her to find out about his wife. _Spot would have shit a brick if he found out I was going after his buddy. _She grinned. _Good._

The candle tight in her hand, she looked herself over real quick. She had decided to stay just how she had been dressed following work: a black pleather miniskirt; a tight spaghetti strapped pink shirt, with her black bra liberally exposed; a black lacy sweater that barely covered her up at all. She was freezing but, on the upside, she looked older than nineteen (she hoped; Cowboy had to be at least twenty-three, twenty-four and most older guys, she found, were dubious about her age – at least, until they got to know her). The only thing that offset her outfit was her white sneakers but there was nothing she could do now.

Jess brushed out a wrinkle in her miniskirt before continuing on her journey upwards. When she got to Jack's floor, she was surprised to see that the door in front of her was open but, rather than just enter, she paused just outside the door. She knocked.

"What did you forget, Dave?" It was him. It had to be. That thin camera weirdo could not have such a sexy voice. Right?

Jess ignored what it was that he said before taking a step into the large loft, trying not to feel envious of the size; the room she was entering could fit four of her cramped apartment inside comfortably. Instead, she answered him, trying to sound as enticing as she could. "Hey. Got a light?" she asked, lifting up the white candle that she held in her hand.

Jack spun around, surprised to hear a woman's voice. However, when he met the person at the door, he could not help but think that it was not a woman but a girl. Her clothes were provocative and very revealing, yes, but she had to be about half his size. Though she was only a head shorter than him, she was so thin that she looked like she would break in half if he even sneezed on her. Yet… she was pretty. And familiar.

He could make out the candle that she held out to him. He stooped down and picked a pack of matches up off of the coffee table before walking over to her. "Uh… sure," he said, a bit ineloquently, as he met her. She had taken a few steps into the room, stopping just next to a window; the moonlight flooded in through that window (the one not broken and, consequently, covered up by a sheet), illuminating her face. He struck the match and held it out to her. "Do I… Do I know you?" he asked, unsure of himself. It had been so long since he left his apartment – he was not too sure of anything anymore.

Jess leaned her candle inward, letting the wick accept the flame. "Thanks," she said, coyly. She purposely did not answer his question. Instead, she bowed her head, though she kept her eyes on him (_he looks cute when he's confused_), and started to head back out the door. However, just as she got to the open door, she stumbled again.

The near-fall was unintentional but there was no mistaking the look of concern that crossed Jack's face. He reached forward for her, helping her get steady. _Well, this is going better than expected_, she mused, feeling the strange warmth of his cool touch.

It was a sweet moment, she had to admit. She kept the candle lifted so as not to burn him; he kept his hands on her waste for a beat too long. But, as quick as it happened, Jack seemed to be aware of where exactly his hands were. Or, maybe, that was because, under his touch, she shivered.

Jack drew his hands back. "You're shivering," he said, unnecessarily.

"No heat in my apartment," Jess said apologetically. "No electricity, either. Got to love New York, eh?" She laughed, a pretty little laugh, before trying to leave again. This time she could make out another expression on his face; she was sure of it – he was intrigued by her. He wanted her to stay. Which, of course, was why she had to leave. But not for long…

Wait.

Before she could even leave, she saw it. The expression she had seen had left but now… Now he was openly staring at her. He looked confused, his head cocked to one side, but there was no mistaking it – he was definitely staring at her. _Interesting…_

Jess could not resist. "What are you looking at? Do I have something on my face or something?"

Jack started. He had not expected to get caught. He coughed to cover his embarrassment. "No… I mean, you remind me of someone."

"Really? Who?"

"It's weird but, you see, you… standing in the moonlight. Smiling. You reminded me of Sarah."

Jess could not keep the disappointment out of her voice. _There's already a girl. Damn it._ "Sarah?"

"Yeah. She died, though."

Now, Jess knew that it was bad to be excited that someone had died. But, hey – Jack was hot. "I'm sorry about that." She paused to see if he would answer. He did not; he had turned his head away as if he was ashamed at admitting what he did. "Well, good night."

"Night."

Jess took only three steps out of the room, pausing just as she got to the steps. She purposely blew out her candle. "Crap. It went out," she said to herself (though loudly) before turning back around. Jack had left the door, giving her the perfect opportunity to re-enter the apartment. She met him just near the sofa this time. "I'm sorry but would you do me another favor and light my candle?"

Jack, who had been busy thinking to himself, ripped another match from the book and struck it. He walked next to Jess again and, while she held her candle out, he put his left hand on top of hers to steady it. She noticed that he was more confident with being in contact with her this time. Until…

"Ow."

Jack pulled his hand back as he shook the match so that he flame would go out. "Are you alright?"

Jess lifted up one of her tiny hands, the hand not holding the candle. "Wax," she said in way of explanation as she wrinkled her nose. It had hurt a bit.

"Sorry."

"Don't be."

Jack did not know what to say. It had been so long since he had been around a girl that was not Twister or David's mother. It worried him that this little sprig of a girl was intimidating him. He shrugged. "Well. Night."

This time the flame was out even before she left the apartment. One minute the flame had been flickering. The next, she had spun around and back, now holding a dark candle. "It's out again. Do you…"

Something told Jack that he should have been expecting this. At the very least, he had not moved from his spot. He struck another match but refused to place his hand on the candle. He leaned in to light it, though, and, when his face was only inches from hers, he glanced up. He could see the flame dancing in the depths of her green eyes. It was nice.

Jess cleared her throat and Jack knew he had been caught again. He backed away. "You know, you look familiar," he said again. It was the only thing he could think of to say.

"Like your dead girlfriend?" Jess shot back, not intending to sound snippy. But, even though he was incredibly attractive, it was beginning to unnerve her how he kept relating her to some dead chick.

"No. I've seen you before. At least, I think I have…"

"Oh. Well, I work down at the Kit Kat Club. I'm a dancer there."

It was Jack's turn to laugh. "That's right. Now I remember. I was there one night with my pal, Dave, and wow. You do some sick shit down there, don't you?"

Jess was glad it was dark. She was sure that she was blushing. "It's a living." She paused. "Goodnight." _Maybe this wasn't the best idea I've had all day… _

However, just because it had been her turn to be embarrassed by him, it did not mean that she was going to chicken out. She reached into her pocket and, as nonchalantly as she could, she knocked the contents of her pocket out onto his floor. She had done her bit; if he really was intrigued, he could get in touch with her.

There was only one problem, though. Just as soon as she had gotten outside of his apartment, Jess remembered that the piece of paper with her phone number was not the only thing in her pocket. _Shit. _Jess spun around and stopped right outside of the door. She knocked, harder than she had before.

"It blew out again?" Jack asked her, sounding a bit amused.

Jess was not in the mood to be amused. She could not afford to lose that baggy. "No, I dropped something important in here," she explained, squatting down and using her candle to illuminate the floor.

That's when it clicked for Jack. She was thin, she was shivering, she looked like she was about to have a panic attack… He could just imagine what the 'something important' was. "What does it look like? Maybe I can help you find it."

If Jess had been thinking clearly – which she was definitely _not _doing at that moment – she might have noticed the tone of voice he had. But she did not and, instead of assuring Jack that it was nothing, she told him. "It's a little white baggy. I don't know why I can't see it…"

_Maybe because you're looking in the wrong spot, _Jack thought. She was too far too the left now. She was nowhere close to where she had been standing in the apartment before. He grinned to himself – he could see it. There were two white things on his floor: a piece of paper and a small baggy full of white powder. _I knew it_, he sighed. He had hoped that maybe this girl was not into that sort of thing; it had almost killed him when he was hooked on the stuff. He at least had had Sarah who talked him out of using. Who did this girl have?

He bent down and scooped up the baggy, leaving the paper alone on the floor. He had hoped to do so inconspicuously but, as soon as he stood up, his hand sliding behind him to put the baggy into his back pocket, he saw that she was watching him.

"Did you find something?" she asked. He was right. She even sounded like she was about to panic.

He shook his head, lying to her. "Just a piece of paper."

Now, Jack was a damn good liar. He could tell David that the sky had turned green overnight and convince him that he was telling the truth – in fact, he had actually done that once. But this girl had him beat. She could see that he was lying at once but, instead of calling him out on it, she re-adopted a coy smile.

"You know. It wasn't really that important, after all. By the way," she said, as she began to grow closer to him. The way she moved made him feel like she was a predator and he was her prey. If it wasn't for the fact that he had to have at least eighty pounds on her, he might have gotten a bit nervous. "What's your name?" she asked, as she stood up on her tiptoes and draped one of her arms, with the hand holding her candle, lazily around his neck.

He was so preoccupied by the hand with the candle that he did not notice the sneaky way her other hand was reaching around him. "Jack. How about you?"

"My friends call me Chance," she said, her voice once again that low and sultry voice that he had heard when she first knocked on his door.

"Chance? Really? Well, what can I call you?" he asked, flirting back at her. Maybe if he did that he could get her mind off of her drugs. She looked way too young to be interested in junk like that, anyway.

Just then her fingers slid into his back pocket and closed around her precious baggy and he knew that she had played him. She lifted her face so that it was next to his. "How about 'Never Had a'…" she whispered before pulling back, carefully removing her arm from his neck and shoulders. She lifted her left hand and waved the baggy before laughing.

He stood there dumbfounded. This girl had just played him. He did not know whether to be annoyed or awed.

Her laugh rang in his ear as she bounced out of his apartment. He saw that the flame of the candle had gone out just before she left; he was not surprised that she did not come back and ask for him to light it again. He had the suspicion that whatever had just happened, whatever game she had been playing – it was not about her candle. It never had been.

Jack walked over to the door and, for the first time since Spot had arrived at the apartment, he shut the door. That's when he saw the piece of paper on the ground again. He reached for it but had a hard time reading the writing on it, it was too tiny. He brought it over to the closest candle and laughed in spite of himself as he made out what it said.

The girl, Chance as she said or Jessica as she had written (_Jessica who dots the 'i' with a little heart, cute_), had left behind a name and her phone number.

_I guess I do have a chance after all… it's just a pity I can't take it._

--

Right after the girl, that Jessica, had left the apartment, and the piece of paper she left behind had been placed in his back pocket, Jack had been hit with inspiration – as little as it was; instead of trying to working on that same short story that had been giving him such a hard time, he had been compelled to write poetry.

When he had finished, there were six or seven lines of unpolished poetry that explained his present mood perfectly. He was not sure what good they would do – perhaps, if he worked further and expanded the idea, the poem could be an opening to a chapter in 'Lost' – but, as he read them out loud, he liked the sound of them: "_I am out of my mind… I am out of control… Full of feelings I can't define… It's a sin with no name… Like a hand in a flame…_," he smiled, thinking of the candle and the wax that had dripped onto her tiny hand, "_And our senses proclaim – it's a dangerous game_…"

Jack closed his notebook and rested it back onto the coffee table. There was something about her that intrigued him yet frightened him at the same time. He had been telling the truth at the time; Jess vaguely reminded him of Sarah. But, now that he was once again alone in the loft (_Where the hell was Blink? Where the hell was David?_) he found that he could not help but remark on the differences between the two women. Sarah had been safe. But Jessica?

His eyes traveled over to the red cover of his notebook. _A dangerous game… _He had not just captured his present mood with his words. He had explained the effect that the girl had had on him as well.


	6. Your equipment won't work?

Author's Note: _It was cutting it a little close, just making the ten review mark but, because there _were _ten reviews, I delivered. Once again, another chapter of _LOST_. Woot. Back to the normal length – I'm sure I could have doubled the word count in this chapter, too, but I decided to tease you all and not do the Today 4 U scene until next chapter (mwahahaha). _

_Two quick things: 1) The 'poem' from the last chapter is actually song lyrics blatantly stolen from the musical _Jekyll & Hyde _(that I totally recommend). It's a song called Dangerous Games and I am enamored by it. Because of my own obsession, I decided to throw it in here. It's gotod to be the writer ;) 2) Just so you people don't think I'm _totally _strange, I wanted to say that the story about someone being kidnapped and kept in a box under a bed – it's a true story. I, actually (like Dave), get a kick out of reading crime journals and that happened to this California woman in the '70's for _seven _years. Crazy, crazy…_

Disclaimer: _I do not own, nor stake any claim, to any of the original characters shamelessly borrowed from _Newsies – _they are the property of Disney, © 1992. Any other character, when noted, is property of their respective owner and will be noted in the disclaimer. The core idea to this story – the adaptation of the Broadway musical, _RENT, _is © 1996 to Jonathan Larson._

--

_How can you connect in an age where strangers, landlords, lovers, your own blood cells betray?  
_Because one can never be sure if such a moment could be the last...

October 29, 2006

--

_Your equipment won't work?  
__Okay, alright, I'll go…_

--

Jack went to sleep not much after Jess left the apartment. Well, no – that's not entirely true. He actually went back over to his sofa, sat down with his notebook and continued to work on his poem. Then, once he had finished it (54 stanzas later), he went back over to the door and opened it. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he had hoped that the girl would find some excuse to come back upstairs.

She did not, though. And, given that he only knew that she lived in the building but had no clue to which apartment was hers, he could not search her out. Jack _did _have her phone number but he could not bring himself to call her up.

What would he say? _Hi. Something about you scares me. I thought I'd get to know to you a bit, just enough to figure out what it is about you that makes me intimidated. Then we can go on our separate ways because I am definitely not interested in another girl. Oh, did I forget to tell you? My last girlfriend – you know, the girl that I thought I was going to marry? Sarah Jacobs? Yeah, her… Well, she gave me AIDS and, get this: as soon as she found out that we were both infected, she jumped in front of a bus. Nice, huh? Yeah. Damaged goods… that's me._

Jack snorted as he blew out the candles in the room, purposely keeping his mind off of the apparently defective candle (of course it was defective, the way it could not hold a flame) Jessica had.

In the darkness of the loft, chilly as the winter winds blew in through that damn broken window, Jack stood by himself. If David had been there, the photographer in him would have been in his glory; the way that the faint echo of the flames, little wisps of white smoke, surrounded him in the center of the apartment would have made a great photograph.

But Jack was not a photographer. He did not enjoy the beauty of the serene scene. Instead, Jack snorted a second time. "Merry fucking Christmas."

And, with that, he went to bed.

--

David blew on his hands, trying his best to warm them up. As it was, they were too numb to even open his apartment door. He only hoped that Jack had had enough sense not to lock the door when he closed it.

Hurriedly he rubbed his hands together using the friction to heat up his fingers. When he finally felt the feeling return to his digits, he wrapped them around the handle and pulled. He would have crossed the fingers on his free hand but he was afraid that they might seize up and cramp that way. David was pretty sure he had read about that happening to someone before.

The door gave way with a quiet _click. _David sighed audibly before sliding the door open. _Good. Jack didn't lock me out this time. _Last time David returned late to apartment and found the door locked, he had had to sleep on the cold concrete floor right outside of the apartment. Jack had laughed it off when he found David the next morning; David had thrown his notebook into the toilet in retaliation. Ever since then, David worried that Jack would lock him out just in spite – it took him three whole days to decipher the runny writing and copy it over in another notebook.

He shut the door behind him quietly, making sure to lock it. If Blink (if he was still alive) ever showed up at the apartment, he deserved to have to sleep outside the door. That would teach him not to make David worry so.

It was still dark in the apartment, dashing David's hopes that Spot had seen reason and had turned the electricity back on. All of the candles that he and Jack had lit up as darkness settled over the City earlier that night had been extinguished, though, making the room seem even darker. The only light filtering into the room was that of the streetlights outside, casting an eerie glow over the entire room.

The light was insufficient, though, and David squinted into the center of the room, looking for his roommate. Jack was no longer sitting on his couch, he saw, and he was surprised. Jack's butt was normally glued to the tacky floral print – half the time, when he was up late working on a particular trying passage, Jack even slept on that lumpy piece of furniture. _I guess he finally decided to sleep in his own bed again, _he thought to himself.

David entered carefully and set his camera down on the phone stand. The answering machine's light was blinking red and, for a second, he wondered if he should listen to the recording. Then he remembered what good the earlier phone calls had done (_none_) and shook his head. Whatever the caller had had to say, it could wait until tomorrow.

He felt his way across the room, his hands groping out in front of him to make sure that he did not trip and fall. Jack was normally a night owl, despite his newfound hermiticism; it was rare that he went to sleep before David did and, for that reason, David was taking great care not to wake him up. Jack was cranky enough when he had his sleep – he was downright intolerable when he was stolen from his slumber.

David took the opportunity to sit on Jack's couch, sprawling out so that his lanky frame was stretched out across the two-seater. It was not as comfortable as it looked, it was much too lumpy, but David was tired. He had spent three hours searching for Blink, covering a ten block radius, going in each direction. It was cold and he was exhausted.

And, to top it all off, there had no sign of Blink. No splatters of blood, no signs of a struggle, no eye patch fluttering in the wind, no ransom note demanding a million dollars for his safe return… Nothing. It was as if he had just disappeared of the face of the earth.

David could not understand it. He was there one moment and gone the next, without any sign of him ever being outside the building. He nodded to himself. There was only one explanation for it…

"I knew it. He's under some whack-a-doo's bed right now, waiting to be given bread and water," David said to himself. He sounded remorseful. "And I came home just because I'm cold. I'm such a bad friend." He shut his eyes, trying to block out the mental image of Blink trapped in a cardboard box, frantically trying to scratch through the thick paper in order to crawl out to safety.

David was not sure when his vivid imagination gave way to dreams (all of which replaced Blink with Annie inside the terrible box, with David jumping on the bed so that the box pressed against her) but they did. He fell asleep on Jack's couch, still in his coat.

--

David woke up to the tantalizing aroma of a fresh pot of brewed coffee. Seriously, he was drooling even before he was fully conscious. Though, of course, that could have happened because Jack had, upon finding David passed out on _his _couch, made fresh coffee, poured himself a mug and was, currently, holding it just above David's face. A couple of slow waves over the mug's mouth, just enough to ensure that the coffee smell was wafting right into David's nose, and Jack was smirking. There was no better way to wake Dave up.

Just like Jack had known, David opened his eyes not too long after the percolator began to whir. At the first sign of his stirring, Jack stepped away from the couch, tucked the black permanent marker away into his back pocket and made it safely to the kitchen before David was fully awake. "Morning, Dave. Merry Christmas." He was in a better mood than last night; he purposely left out the expletive this time. He even managed a genuine smile.

David yawned and stretched – he could already feel the soreness in his back that accompanied a night on that blasted couch – as he sat up. He did not even realize that he was still in his coat, or that Jack was smiling. If he had been thinking clearer, he would have thought that something was up then; Jack never smiled in the morning. But, alas, David was not thinking clearly. His senses had been dulled with the prospect of fresh morning coffee.

"Merry Christmas to you, too, Jack. I see you made coffee."

Jack nodded and, almost as if teasing David, took a long drink from his mug before smacking his lips loudly. "Yup. Power came back on this morning. Thought I'd celebrate by making a nice cup of joe. You want?"

"Definitely." He stood up from the couch, rubbing his back. It was only then that he realized that his coat was still on. He smiled sheepishly and unzipped the zipper. "I guess I was more tired that I thought," he said with a chuckle as he took off his coat and sat it down neatly across the back of the old sofa.

Jack continued to nod (_more than you think, couch-stealer_) but he did remove a chipped Mickey Mouse mug – David's favorite, oddly enough – from the cabinet. He poured out a cup of coffee. "So, did you find Blink last night?" he asked as he offered the steaming mug out.

David shook his head. He accepted the mug with a faint smile but immediately set it down on top of the counter. He could never understand how Jack could drink his coffee black. He busied himself with pouring a liberal amount of milk into his mug before adding four sweet 'n' lows. Now _that _was coffee. He took a quick sip, savoring the taste, before addressing Jack's question. "No. Three hours and not a sign of him."

"Maybe he went to see some friends," Jack said, trying not to stare at David's marred forehead. He was sure if he kept glancing at it David would figure that something was up and check it out. He could not have that. With a snicker, he lowered his emerging grin back into his coffee mug.

David did not notice. He just shrugged. "I would say maybe to that if it wasn't for the fact that we're his only friends."

"True." Jack paused. "So where do you think he went, then?"

Not the best question to ask David. Given that David had had three hours to brood on that question while he was out searching the area the night before, he had many theories as to where Blink could have gone. Unfortunately for Jack, most of those theories were quite disturbing and all featured Blink in some sort of bodily harmful scenario.

However, luck was on his side that morning. Just as David opened his mouth to tell Jack some of his theories, the phone rang. Vaguely David remembered that there had been at least one message on their machine the night before and that he still had not listened to it. Oh well.

He was quite intent on letting the phone go to the machine. Jack, it seemed, had a different idea. He actually crossed the room and, before the machine picked up, he answered the phone himself. "Yo."

"Jack. I want to talk to Dave." Direct and to the point. Had to be Twister. That, and the fact that it was a girl looking for Dave – and it was not his mother. Definitely Twister.

"Well, Merry Christmas to you, too, Twist."

David's ears perked up. "Annie's on the phone?" He started to walk over to the phone stand.

Jack hushed him, waving his hand at David, before turning his attention back to the phone. What was it that she was saying? Oh, yes. Something about cutting his nuts off and feeding them to him if he didn't give the phone over to David right now. "Whatever you say, Twist," he relented. He was quite attached to his nuts. "Dave. Phone. It's your girlfriend. I mean 'ex'. Old habits die hard, you know."

David rolled his eyes and snatched the phone out of Jack's hand. "Annie?"

"Dave, honey. How are you?" Her voice was much sweeter than when she was talking to Jack. She wanted something.

David had not known Annie Banister for all those years without learning how to get wise to her schemes. He could only imagine what it was she wanted him for this time. "I'm good. And you?"

"I'm doing great… kinda." She paused. _Here it comes_. "But I need a favor."

_I knew it. _"What's the matter?"

"Didn't you get any of my messages? I left you about three last night."

_So that was who called. _"No, sorry. I was… uh… out on a date last night," he lied. He might as well try to make Annie jealous, right? Only one problem: Jack was laughing in the background, totally blowing his credibility. David scowled at Jack; he laughed harder. "Yeah, well, I didn't get in until late and never got the chance to listen to the machine. What's wrong?"

If he expected her to sound anything but casual when she spoke, he was partially right. She did not sound casual – she sounded singsong sweet as she tried to manipulate him into doing whatever it was she needed. "I don't know. Kara," she said, without elaborating on who Kara was. They _all _knew who Kara Allen was, "is trying to get the sound system set up for the show Monday and, despite her fancy schooling, that girl doesn't know what the hell she's doing. It's… it's not working, Dave. I need your help. You're good with this stuff."

"So, your… equipment won't work? That's why you're calling me?" Any fantasies that this phone call was about her dumping Kara and begging to get back together with him flew out of his mind.

"Yeah. What do you say, Davey? Will you do it? For me?" He was not sure but it sounded as if Annie added in a sniffle for good measure.

It did not matter, thought; 'Davey' already clinched it. She knew that he could never say no to that – or 'pookie'. David sighed in resignation. "Okay. Alright. I'll go. When do you need me?"

Annie sounded a lot happier and _normal_ when she spoke again. "Tomorrow. I'm actually going to visit with Kara's family for the holiday but we'll be back tonight. How about noon tomorrow, at the lot?"

"Sure," David answered, sounding even more dejected. Annie had _never _spent a holiday with his family.

"Great. I'll see you tomorrow, Dave."

"Tomorrow, Annie," he agreed. "Bye."

She did not even have the decency to say goodbye. The phone just disconnected. David shook his head as he laid the phone back on its cradle. That had been happening to him a lot, lately.

"Sucker."

David made his way back across the apartment and picked his coffee mug back off of the sticky counter. He glared at Jack; Jack, he was glad to see, was not meeting his gaze. "Excuse me, Jack. Did you say something?"

Jack snorted before lifting his head up, defiantly. "Yeah. Twister dumped your ass. For a chick, I might add, in case you forgot. But all she has to do is call and you're her little bitch. You're a sucker, Dave."

He had nothing to say to that. In a way, he knew Jack was right. Okay, Jack was right entirely. He could not tell him that, though – Jack's head was big enough already. So, rather than continuing in that conversation, David did something quite unlike him: he kept his mouth shut.

The quiet did not last. It was broken up just then by someone fiddling with their door. There was a scratching at the door, then a muffled "Shit. The keys? Where'd I put them?", before the lock gave. The door slid open and, to David's surprise (and Jack's expectation) there stood Blink. Alive and definitely not dead.

He was carrying a full white bucket in his left hand, David's keys held between his teeth and striking a ridiculously flamboyant pose with his free right hand. "Merry Christmas, bitches!"

Blink entered the room, commanding all presence with every step. Let it never be said that he did not know how to make an entrance. In fact, he left them speechless – though that would because they were wondering just what the hell he was wearing. While Blink was gay – there was no denying that – he was anything but the stereotypical queen. But, for some reason, he was wearing a frilly white peasant blouse, a fluffy white coat and a pair of some skintight leather pants. Throw in his eye-patch and he looked like a queer pirate; all he was missing was a sword and maybe a fancy feather.

He walked over to the kitchen, because, obviously, it would kill David and Jack to walk towards him to say hello. He grinned at them both but that grin faltered when he took a good look at David. Blink laughed and, without saying a word, he turned his good eye on Jack.

Jack shrugged but there was a childish amusement about him. No doubt about it, he was responsible for David's _interesting _markings. And poor David had no idea.

Blink reached forward and gave both of them tight hugs. "I missed you, too, you bums," he said, still smiling, as he passed off his bucket to Jack.

Jack was confused but took the bucket. His confusion switched over to a mild excitement when he saw what Blink had stowed inside the empty-of-paint paint bucket: a bottle of cheap Vodka, a few bags of chips, a bag of fresh bagels and a stick of real (_real!_) butter.

"Holy shit, Blink. Where did you get this stuff?" He pulled out each item and set them on the counter before lifting the Vodka up. "Great Christmas present, buddy."

Blink did not have a chance to answer Jack's question, though. There was someone else he needed to answer to first.

David watched as Jack eagerly fought to get the lid off of the bottle. He rolled his eyes and, placing his hands on his hips, he looked sternly over at Blink. "Where the hell were you? I've been worried sick. It's been almost thirteen hours since you called. And… and, Jesus Christ, I really _do _sound like my mother."

Blink laughed, a deep laugh at odds with the girly way he was currently dressed. "I love you too, Dave," he said.


	7. Today for you, tomorrow for me

Author's Note: _Well, you guys did it again. Eleven reviews as of this morning so, before I start my NaNoWriMo novel, I thought I would work on this story. People seemed very interested in how Mush would enter into the scene so here it is. Key note: it is very difficult to remember that Mush is being addressed as a girl. (Because, of course, she has to be a queen – I could not change that, lol). So, if there are any he/him mentions, ignore them. I'll fix them eventually. Also, I'm glad you all liked Blink's outfit. It was glossed over in this chapter and, hopefully, you can figure out why he was in those clothes (hint: they're not his :P) but I can always add that in next chapter. I did, however, explain the forehead thing. (Another hint: when you get to what it says, it means two things: one is what it says, plain and simple, the other – just say it fast a few times and you might see it). Well, enjoy! As always, reviews are highly appreciated!_

Disclaimer: _I do not own, nor stake any claim, to any of the original characters shamelessly borrowed from _Newsies_ – they are the property of Disney, © 1992. Any other character, when noted, is property of their respective owner and will be noted in the disclaimer. The core idea to this story – the adaptation of the Broadway musical, _RENT,_ is © 1996 to Jonathan Larson. _

--

_How can you connect in an age where strangers, landlords, lovers, your own blood cells betray?  
_Because one can never be sure if such a moment could be the last...

November 1, 2006

--

_Today for you, tomorrow for me… _

--

David moved his hands from his hips – he just realized how feminine it made him and, as it was, there were already more than one running gags on his sexuality; he didn't need more, especially now that Blink was still alive and _finally _at the apartment – and, instead, crossed them over his chest. "Where were you? And what the hell are you wearing?"

Blink held up his right hand. "Hold on a sec, Dave. I can answer both of your questions. Just wait. She's coming," he added, hurriedly shrugging off of his (Mush's) coat. He tossed it at the couch, letting it fall across David's neatly placed jacket. He pushed the frilly sleeves of his blouse up around his elbows – both Jack and David could see that he was, at least, mildly uncomfortable in the get-up – and walked back over to the front door.

David and Jack turned and looked at each other, silently questioning what they had heard Blink say. _She? _Since when was Blink hanging around with a woman? No doubt about it, this was going to be interesting.

Blink left the apartment but only just. He paused right outside the door and had a hushed discussion with whomever it was that was waiting outside. They could see his head bobbing in agreement before he reentered the room. Then, again with the flamboyant poses, made all the more _gay _by those tight leather pants he was wearing, Blink lifted his arms. "Fellas," he began, drawing the others attention towards the door (unnecessarily but, despite his rather drab occupation of being a history teacher, Blink had always had a flair for the dramatics), "can I introduce you to my guardian angel? Mush Meyers, come on down!"

What happened next was something that all three of them (Blink, Jack and David) would reminisce about when things got rough…

The person that entered the room was quite unlike anything they had expected. With a quick glance, your first impression would be simple: she was a woman. She had an olive-toned complexion and a bright smile. There was straight black hair that went down to her chin, and expertly applied make-up that brought out her dark eyes. She was pretty if a bit over the top.

Mush was definitely into the Christmas spirit. She had woven tinsel into her hair and was wearing the most outrageous Santa costume that any of them had ever seen – and they had all lived in New York all their lives. It was a Santa jacket, red with white trim, which cinched at her waist. Her breasts were rather small, but perky and stretched the white unitard she had on underneath the coat. She was not wearing pants but, instead, a pair of red and white stockings that made her (surprisingly) muscular legs look like candy canes. And, to top it all of, she was wearing knee-high black hooker boots, a parody of Santa's shoes.

But if you had the opportunity to look a bit closer (and the knowledge that Blink was gay and would not touch a woman with a ten foot pole) then certain features would jump out: there was a rather prominent Adam's apple and, really, this 'woman' was _too _muscular.

His angel was a man – dressed (quite convincingly) as a woman. And, yet, that surprised no one.

Well, that's not entirely true. Blame it on mixed messages, a sore back and a nagging suspicion that Jack had done something to his forehead but David had not been expecting Mush…

David, who had been rolling his eyes at Blink's antics, had chosen the moment of Mush's entrance to lift his coffee mug back to his lips. However, when he caught sight of Blink's new friend, he could not help it – the mouthful of coffee that had not quite been swallowed yet was spit out in a fierce spray. He began to choke and, in his fit, his mug slipped out of his hand. Poor Mickey Mouse – the mug broke into three large pieces (and quite a few smaller ones) as it made contact with the floor.

Jack started to laugh – it was hard to tell if it was because of his reaction to Mush or because Dave was a total spaz. Blink joined in. Mush, on the other hand, brought one of her hands to her mouth (she was wearing bright red nail polish that matched his jacket), and almost shrieked. "Are you alright?" Her voice was not as stereotypically high and female as most drag queens used, nor was it characteristically male; it was soft and quite soothing.

She rushed forward, her boots barely making a sound as she glided across the floor, until she was standing right before David; he had bent down to retrieve the broken shards of his favorite mug. Mush knelt down, careful not to get coffee on her stockings, and began to help him. "Careful, honey," she added just as David seemed to nick his palm on a particularly nasty piece of the broken ceramic. She reached inside her tight shirt and, when she offered her hand toward David, there was a tissue held daintily in between her fingers.

David accepted the tissue and wrapped it around his palm, trying to stop the minor trickle of blood. "Thanks. Mush, right?"

"Yeah. It's a nickname, though. The name is Connor but, when I was a little boy," he paused and smiled. "Yes, I am a boy. But I'm a queen, obviously," he said as an explanation. Mush was very comfortable about himself; usually his ease made anyone else around feel better about his _uniqueness_. Jack and David, while they were not unfamiliar with drag queens, had just not expected Blink to bring one home – she had just caught them off-guard. "Anyway, I was always a bit on the soft side. Some assholes," somehow, it seemed wrong for such a word to come from her, "liked to call me mushy. Somehow, it just stuck. Mush is just my name. Though, I guess, one of these days I should pick a more girly name." She laughed and any of the awkward tension that had followed her entrance evaporated.

The laughter had all but stopped as Blink and Jack (though there was a minor surge on Jack's part when Mush pulled a tissue out of her bra) watched Mush help David clean up his mess and listened to him introduce himself. Blink walked over to Jack and elbowed him in the side. "Told you she was an angel."

Mush spun around, still at ground-level, when she heard Blink's voice. "Blink, can you grab some paper towels for me, baby?"

Jack waited for Blink to grab the roll of half-empty paper towels from the end of the counter before raising an eyebrow. "Baby?" he mouthed.

Blink smiled mischievously.

_Fast worker. _Jack shook his head but he could not help but smile in return. At least Blink looked happy. When he left New York seven months ago to take a job at some school in California (he said he needed a change and that he could not wait to check out San Francisco) he had been depressed. He had no money, no family, no lasting relationship. All he had was his buddies and a disease he had picked up in one of the clubs. Blink wanted to rebuild his life and make something of it but, somehow, it had not worked in California. New York, though, looked like it might be working out for him. Back not even a day and he had found his 'angel'. Jack could only imagine what they were doing last night.

Mush accepted the paper towels and ripped a whole wad of it. She used it to pick up the broken pieces before handing the roll to David. "Soak up the coffee, sweetie. You wouldn't want it to stain the floor."

"Thanks," David said, a bit confused. Did she just call him 'sweetie'? _This might take a bit of getting used to. _But he did what she said, though.

"Where's the trashcan?" she asked, holding up the refuse from David's accident.

Jack pointed to the off-white trash (well, it had been white when they got it) plastic trash bin in the corner of the kitchen. Mush walked over and, with a flourish, dropped the mess inside it.

David, once he was done sponging up the wasted coffee, joined her over at the bin. Once he had thrown it away, he stuck out his non-bleeding hand. "My name is David. It's nice to meet you, Mush."

Mush accepted it. However, this was the first time that she was standing face to face with David – and could see the black writing on his forehead. She stared as she tried to make it out.

David could not figure out what she was looking at; her mouth was moving, but she was silent, as she her dark eyes bored holes into his forehead. Finally, she smiled and did a strange thing. She curtsied. "My pleasure, your majesty."

_Huh? _

Jack could not hold it in any longer. He busted out laughing. "You deserved it, Dave. Next time don't sleep on my couch."

"What?" David asked, still confused.

Mush lifted one of her fingers and ran it across David's forehead. When she pulled it away, the tip was coated in black.

_Oh, shit. What did Jack do now? _David turned around and reached for the slightly dented toaster than sat on the cluttered counter. It was a metal toaster and was perfect for looking at your reflection.

His features were out of proportion, thanks to the dent, but he could see that there was eight letters written largely across his face; Jack had purposely drawn them in reverse so when David looked into the toaster, he could read them quite easily, even though there was a faint smudge line from Mush's finger.

SOFA KING.

Jack had written the words SOFA KING across his forehead in a black marker.

The rest of them started laughing as David slammed the toaster back onto the counter and hurried over to the sink. He poured a liberal amount of dish soap onto the crusty old sponge, soaked the sponge, and began to scrub at his head. It took a bit of force to finally erase all of the markings from his skin; by the time it was gone, his forehead was red and raw from the rubbing.

Amidst the scene – Blink had joined in on the laughter while Mush allowed herself to giggle coyly – Mush opened her mouth in surprise. "I almost forgot," she said, waving her hands quickly to get the others attention. She looked at Jack – who was crying, he was laughing so hard – and pointed at him. "So, you're Jack, right?"

Jack nodded. He still could not speak.

Mush reached into one of the large pockets on her Santa jacket and searched around for a moment. Her brows furrowed as if she was having a hard time finding whatever it was in her pocket but it did not last long. She smiled triumphantly as she removed something from them: a piece of paper folded into a small square. She extended the note towards Jack. "I was waiting for Blink to tell me to come inside when this girl came up the stairs. She was a tiny little thing but pretty. I loved her hair and her pajamas were cute. Anyway, she asked me if I would give this to the one called Jack."

Jack's laughter stopped at once. He snatched the note out of Mush's hand without even a 'thank you'. Who else could it be from but her?

_Jack. _

_I'm in 5A. Want to celebrate the holiday together? I got mistletoe and hot chocolate. _

_– Jess _

He did not read the note out loud. He did not need to. His face turned so red that he matched David's raw skin.

Jack made to fold the note back up but, before he could, David reached out and stole the note. Jack turned to take it back but Blink – always one for something amusing – held onto his arm. Mush took the hint and did the same with Jack's other arm – she was just as curious.

David sprinted across the room, unfolding the note as he went. When it was open, he read it out loud. It was short and he finished it before Jack had broken free from Blink and Mush's hold.

It was David's turn to chortle. He folded the note back up for Jack and waved it. "So, Jack. Who's this Jess girl? Did you make a new friend and not tell me?"

Jack crossed his arms over his chest. "Can I help it is girls actually like me, Dave. We're not all cursed."

That shut David up real quick. Before Jack could continue on in that vein – David had forgotten that it was never good to make fun of Jack when he had just as much dirt on him – David changed the subject. He tucked the note in his back pocket (he would get back at Jack later) and gestured back to Blink and Mush. "Hey, Blink. I don't know how the hell you got out of answering my question but now that we've met Mush, I think you have some explaining to do."

Jack accepted the momentary and silent truce that David was setting up by changing the subject. "Yeah," he added, picking up the still full bucket, "and why don't you tell me where you got all this shit from."

Mush raised her hand slightly. "I can answer for Blink." She looked at Blink. "Is that alright, honey?"

Blink gestured in front of him while grinning crookedly at Mush. "The floor is your's," he said before going to take a seat. He went to go sit down on the overstuffed couch in the center of the room but remembered David's forehead. He changed his mind and took one of the hard backed chairs by the small kitchen table.

Jack snorted when he saw what Blink had done. _My couch. _

Mush, though, had no clue as to what was going on. She shrugged. "Well, first of all. I bought all that stuff. Blink said he doubted you guys had any good stuff in your apartment so I got it on my way over here. Consider it a Christmas gift for you guys."

David took one of the two remaining seats at the table. He was not going to even _breathe _on Jack's couch anymore. "Why did you do that for us?"

Mush shrugged. "Well, it's what I do. I don't know. I'm nice, I guess."

"Nice? She's a fucking angel," Blink interrupted. "You should see what she did for me."

David wrinkled his nose. "Blink, I don't think we want to know."

It was Mush's turn to laugh. "I think what Blink means is that I found him hurt last night and I brought him home with me. He let me play nurse and bandage him up. And then we got to play doctor." Mush could not help herself – she had to add that.

Jack snorted – he got it – but it went over David's head. That might have been, though, because he was focusing on what Mush said first. "I told you, Jack, that he got hurt and Blink-napped. But do you believe me? Nooo…"

Blink looked confused; he had no idea to what lengths David had predicted his demise the night before. "It was a weak mugging attempt, Dave. They got my shit but I got Mush. I think I'm alright."

"Yeah, yeah. And you couldn't call? I spent three hours looking for you."

Blink shrugged. "I did call. I left a message, too. Can I help it if you screen?"

David shut up; he also made a mental note just then: if the machine is blinking red, listen to the messages. No matter how late it was. That was twice already he felt like an ass.

Jack cut in. "Anyway… What I want to know is where you got the money for this? Are you loaded or something? Cause we ain't and I might have to jump you myself if you are."

Both Blink and Mush exchanged a look before laughing. "Well, I'm not loaded, as you say, but I make do. But, yesterday – Christmas Eve? You'll never believe what happened to me. I was walking down Avenue A, banging on my paint bucket like I normally do, when some old broad came pulling up in some hoity-toity limo. Said she had seen me performing on street corners." She paused, afraid that Jack – who she, rightly, assumed to have a perverted mind – before explaining herself. "I like to do drag and perform street art on the sidewalk when the weather is nice. But, when it's cold out, like now, I just go out as Connor and play the dreams. I get good money from it, you know. Anyways, she said that she had a job for me. Turns out she has a neighbor with the most annoying little Chihuahua, 'Sippi. Weird name, I know, but it's some rich lady's pup."

"All he does is yap, she tells me, and I can't ever rest. 'I need my beauty sleep' she said, and, honey, that woman would need to sleep for the next fifty years if she wanted to be beautiful. But, she offered me a thousand dollars if I took care of it for her. She figured if I went in her apartment and beat on my drums enough, then the dog might just explode from its yapping."

Blink started to laugh at this point in the story. David was vaguely aware that Blink must have laughed more times that morning than in the whole last month he had been in New York but he was to interested in hearing the rest of Mush's story to draw attention to that. It never amazed him how strange New Yorkers were – whoever heard of a neighbor hiring a street artist to induce a doggy to die?

Jack could not help but ask. "And? What happened to the dog?"

"Well, I was well into my third number when I heard a shrill screech followed by a splat. The—"

Blink cut in. "That little shit jumped out of its window and landed in the grassy courtyard of this rich broad's apartment building."

_Yummy_.

"I got the thousand dollars, though," Mush added. "And I didn't actually see 'Sippi die, so I don't feel _too _bad."

Blink got up from his seat and walked over to Mush. He planted a sweet kiss against her cheek. "I told you. A goddamn angel."

Mush blushed slightly and playfully pushed him away. Blink adopted a look of feigned hurt. Mush giggled and pulled him back before planting a kiss on his lips. The kiss deepened and poor David and Jack became witnesses to one of many public displays of affection for those two.

After they had been entwined for almost a minute (David was keeping track with his watch), Jack cleared his throat. They reluctantly broke apart.

Jack lifted up the bottle of Vodka. He still had not gotten the lid off of it though he was, once again, wrestling with it. "So why did you spend your dough on us? I don't understand. You could have spent in on a romantic getaway from you and Blink but you came over here. Why? I mean, I'm not complaining but it's seems a little _too _nice to me."

Blink began to mutter something along the lines of, "I told you, Mush. Acapulco would have been sweet…" but Mush cut him off. There was something about her, her inherent naivety almost despite her overwhelming presence, that demanded all of their attention.

"Simple. When you live the way that I do, life becomes pretty simple. Like I always say, today for you, tomorrow for me."

And that one phrase, quietly and meaningfully uttered by the fantastical drag queen (and puppy murderer), managed to shut all three of the boys up. Without needing her to elaborate on what she meant, they all thought that they knew.


	8. I'm a New Yorker, fear's my life

Author's Note: _Alright, here is the next chapter of LOST. Couple of things I want to say, first. One: Due to NaNoWriMo, this story will be updated weekly during the month of November. However, that is only if the ten review mark is met – otherwise, it will be every other week until I complete my novel. The reason for that is this is starting to get into a bit of the more upsetting topics (even if it is just foreshadowing and all that good stuff). That, and it usually takes a lot of time and energy to get a chapter of this out – and my novel is hard enough as it is. Two: This chapter is on the shorter side but that is because I needed to cut it off here so that next week (or so) would start with The Tango Maureen scene. Three: I made a boo boo with the date. Twisters' show is Monday, not Tuesday. I'm going to go back and fix it but, for now, know that this chapter is right. And Four: This chapter is not where I meant to go but I think it suited itself. I want to remind you guys that this will eventually be very drama-heavy. The end of this chapter is just the first taste of that. I hope you all enjoy! PS. If you want to check out my NaNoWriMo novel, my user name is: cursetheflame. Woot._

Disclaimer: _I do not own, nor stake any claim, to any of the original characters shamelessly borrowed from _Newsies_ – they are the property of Disney, © 1992. Any other character, when noted, is property of their respective owner and will be noted in the disclaimer. Charlotte Blackett is the propert of Holiday and is used with permission. The core idea to this story – the adaptation of the Broadway musical, _RENT,_ is © 1996 to Jonathan Larson. _

--

_How can you connect in an age where strangers, landlords, lovers, your own blood cells betray?  
_Because one can never be sure if such a moment could be the last...

November 8, 2006

--

_I'm a New Yorker…  
Fear's my life… _

--

"Well, boys, it was really great meeting you. But, Blink, honey, we have to get going," Mush reminded him, using one of her hooker red painted fingernails to run up and down Blink's exposed arm.

Blink nodded. "I know. You ready?"

Mush pulled her arm back and her hands disappeared inside the oversized sleeves of her Santa jacket. "Yeah. You guys want to come?" she offered, looking at Jack and David.

Jack did not even need to know where they were going. "No thanks. I'm not that great of company, you know."

Mush wiggled her eyebrows. "Going to go visit that pretty little thing downstairs, hmm?" she asked suggestively.

Jack flinched. "No. I have other things to do," he said flatly.

Faced with that reaction, Mush decided it would be best to drop it. Or, at the very least, wait until he and Blink were outside to ask what crawled up Jack's butt and died.

David looked interested. "Where are you guys going?"

"Life support meeting. We get together every now and then and just try to survive life. Most of us there have AIDS but you don't have to have it to go. I think everyone needs support to live life in New York." David noticed that Mush had the habit of waving her hands energetically as she explained.

Blink nodded his agreement. "You should come, Dave. Maybe it'll help you get over Twister."

David went red. _He knows already…_ "Jack told you, huh?" He turned around to glare at Jack. Jack, however, seemed to think that the bottom of his coffee mug was incredibly interesting.

He shook his head; he would have to get Jack back for blabbing to everyone about him and Annie. That and the stupid forehead thing.

"You didn't think that anyone could keep _that _secret, did you, Dave?" Blink asked knowingly.

Mush, however, looked confused. She elbowed Blink in the side. "What?"

Blink jerked his thumb towards David. "David's girlfriend, Twister, dumped him two months ago." He paused and David knew he was just building up suspense for the punch line. He was not disappointed. "For a chick."

Mush looked from Blink to David and backed. It was easy to tell that she wanted to laugh but did not want to hurt David's feelings; her brown eyes were wide and she was biting her bottom lip. After a few seconds… "Oh. That's… uh, that's nice."

David gave Mush a look that said 'you're not fooling no one'. Mush realized that she had been caught. So she did the only thing she could: she laughed.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah…" David said. "Laugh it up. Just get it out of your system. Any day now. Come on. It's not like I'm not the only guy here who got dumped, you know. I just happened to get dumped for another girl…"

He was still going on, muttering under his breath. His mutterings just continued as Blink and Jack joined in on the laughter. David just blushed even darker.

The laughter probably went on longer than it should have – and would have, undoubtedly, continued on for even longer – if Mush did not take pity on David and stop. "Alright, boys. That's enough. Let's leave David alone… hmm?"

"Yeah," Blink agreed, though still snickering, "you're right, Mush. Besides, we got to get going." He waved at Jack and David with his hand while reaching out for Mush's with his right. "You guys have any plans for this week?"

Jack just rolled his eyes; his earlier comment of 'I'm not that great of company' ran through everyone else's head. Blink snorted and turned to David. "Let me rephrase that. Dave, you have any plans for this week?"

Finally, David was allowed a bit of a moment to chuckle – which he did. "Actually, I do. Annie… Twister," he added. Mush was looking confused and he figured it might be smarter to tell Mush that Annie and Twister was the same person before she asked, "She is doing a performance on Monday down at one of the lots that Spot is trying to shut down. She thinks if she riles up enough people, he might change him mind."

"Fat chance."

David nodded, agreeing with Jack. "Anyway, the performance starts at nine, if you two want to come. I think we're going to head out to dinner after the show ends."

"What do you think?" Blink asked, squeezing Mush's hand.

Mush shrugged. "Sounds like fun. It might be nice to meet this Twister person. Nine o'clock on Monday? Alright."

"Cool."

"Cool," mimicked Jack. David spun around to glare at him; Jack's face was back in his coffee mug.

Blink shook his head. "And, on that note, we will be taking our leave." He did a mock salute. "See you later, boys."

Mush waved impishly at them. However, just as Blink began to lead her out of the apartment, she dragged on her heels and turned around. "Just remember that you guys are more than welcome at the Life Support meeting. It starts at noon down at the Ryder Community Center. Try to make it if you can."

Jack just turned his head and stared out of the non-broken window. David ignored his rude behavior and smiled thankfully at Mush. "Thanks. I'd like to attend. I'll meet you down there. I just have to wash up."

Mush nodded, still standing half in the apartment, half in the hall. "Thank you, David."

"Adios, you bums," called Blink's voice, laced with laughter. Then there was a tug on Mush's sleeve and she, too, was gone.

David waited a moment to see if they were actually gone (he could hear Mush's giggles as they descended the stairs) before turning to face Jack. This time, though he was still in the kitchen, nursing his (probably fourth or fifth, at this rate) cup of coffee, he did not hide himself away from David's questioning gaze. He must have known that this was coming. "Ja-ack…"

Jack grimaced. He hated it when Dave used that sing-song voice. "Wha-at…"

"Care to explain this to me?" David lifted his hand up so that Jack could see that folded note held between his pointer finger and his middle finger. He had removed the paper from his pocket as soon as Mush and Blink had left; he wanted to talk to Jack about it before he joined them down at the community center.

Jack placed his empty mug back onto the counter and shrugged. "What's there to explain?"

"Oh, I don't know. It's just that you haven't left this apartment in weeks and then, out of nowhere, some girl is inviting you over for Christmas. It's weird, you know?" David said as he joined him in the kitchen.

He offered Jack the note. Jack snatched it and, after crumpling it up into as small a ball as he could manage, he tossed it into the garbage. "It's nothing, Dave. Some kid from the building stopped by after you left last night, asking if I'd light her candle. We talked for a bit and then she left. That was all."

David raised his eyebrow. "Didn't seem to me like that was all. And who is she? Do I know her?"

"I don't know. She lives below us. Brown hair, wavy, I guess. Real tiny girl. Says she's nineteen but I don't buy it. I'm sure you've seen her around."

"Wait. Are you talking about the girl from the Kit Kat Club?"

It was Jack's turn to raise an eyebrow. "And how the hell do you remember that, Dave?"

David shrugged, a mischievous smile spanning across his face. "I actually get out of the house."

--

There were three other people milling about, greeting each other and sharing Christmas wishes, in Room 3 of the Ryder Community Center when Blink and Mush arrived. They got there with close to five minutes to spare; they were followed almost immediately by an elderly man with white hair and glasses.

That man cleared his throat as he entered, drawing the attention of everyone in the room. "Merry Christmas, everyone. Would you like to take your seats?"

There was a stack of folded chairs placed against the wall. Each of the people grabbed a chair (Blink took one for Mush, someone else grabbed a second chair for the older man) and, by the time the clock struck twelve, they had formed a small circle with each of the six people looking at each other.

"Welcome to another Life Support meeting, everyone. I see we have a new face today so let's start by introducing ourselves, alright?" There was a general murmuring among the others. The older man smiled. "Great. My name is Alfred Kloppman. I, myself, don't have AIDS but my granddaughter did. She passed away three years ago and, ever since then, I started coming to these meetings in her place. I tried to help her. I want to help you, now."

When he finished, the group clapped. It was a gentle sound and lasted for only a few seconds. They appreciated the man's dedication to their cause; he had held daily meetings, ranging in time, ever since Betsy had died. Whether one person or ten showed up to his meetings, he continued to hold them. Most of them considered him to be a grandfather to them, too.

To Kloppman's right sat a young man, shorter than most of the people present. He had dark hair, dark eyes and a gambler's smile – one of those smiles that people can not read. He nodded and, when he spoke, his accent was so stereotypically New York it made the others want to shake their head. "Hey. I'm Tony. Tony Higgins. And, yeah, I'm HIV positive. Sucks, don't it?"

There was a girl sitting next to Tony. She would have been very pretty with her brown skin, long chestnut hair and green eyes if not for the waif-like features of the girl. She was very tiny, almost swallowed up by her dark grey coat. She kept her head bowed and, when she spoke, she was quiet. "Charlotte Blackett. I've been sick for about eight months now."

Directly opposite of the circle, sat a boy, a little over twenty, who was tall and thin. He was almost lying in his chair, his back against the seat, his butt hanging off the edge. He had his hands crossed over his chest in a very guarded manner. "Skittery," was all he offered.

Mush did not seem to expect anything else from the boy, nor did any of the other people. She smiled at all of them. "I'm Mush," she said but, upon a look from the man, Kloppman, she removed her wig. Her short hair was mussed and she took an instant to pat it down. "Connor, really," she added. It was quite odd to see her dressed in her get-up, wearing her make-up but no wig. "I've been coping with AIDS for about two years now."

And, lastly, it was Blink's turn. He followed Mush's example and smiled at them all. Charlotte and Tony, he noticed, as well as Kloppman, smiled back. Skittery just smirked. "Hey. I'm Hayden but, for obvious reasons, you can call me Blink. I've been HIV positive for about three years. And, well, that's it, I guess."

"Welcome to Life Support, Blink," Kloppman said before clapping his hands once. He drew everyone's attention over to him. "Alright, everyone. Anyone want to start?"

Charlotte dropped her head and Skittery scoffed; Tony shook his head. Blink had no idea what 'start' meant, so he did not say anything. Mush, on the other hand, began to open her mouth but, before she could say anything, there was a loud racket coming from the other end of the room. Someone was trying to open the door.

Finally, after a ten second struggle with the door (it was one of the awkward shaped knobs), the door popped open. David stood there, his camera in his hand, his face red. "Uh… sorry?"

Nobody said anything. The silence caused David to get even more flustered. For a second he thought he had gotten the wrong room but then he saw Blink and Mush (_Was that Mush? Where did the hair go?_) and hurried over to them.

Kloppman looked kindly over to David. "Welcome to Life Support. And you are?"

"Me?" David asked, confused. His eyes cast over the five other people in the circle before looking back at Kloppman. "Oh, um, I don't have AIDS."

David realized at once that he had said the wrong thing. It got very tense in the room at the moment though no one said anything; in fact, it was the silence that followed his statement that made him uncomfortable. He gulped and tried to remove the overlarge foot he had just stuck in his mouth. "No, I didn't mean it like that. It's just that, I was invited." He gestured wildly toward Mush and Blink. Blink looked to the side as if he had never seen David before in his life; Must, at least, waved at him.

He felt more like an ass now. He shook his head as if that would erase all of the stupid things he had said. "Hi. I'm David. I just thought I'd come by and… uh… watch, I guess." That sounded just as dumb as everything else he had already said.

David was about to leave, while he still had _some _dignity left, but was stopped when Kloppman smiled. "Welcome, David. We were just getting started. Take a seat."

David thanked Kloppman but did not move. Instead, he lifted his camera up. "I know this sounds weird and all but I'm working on a photo project. Pictures of New Yorkers doing what they do, you know. I was wondering if I could take a few pictures."

Kloppman turned to his crew. "Does anyone have a problem with that?"

Tony's upper lip quirked. "Any money in it, Davey?"

David tried hard to overlook his being called 'Davey' and shook his head. "No. It's just a collection. It's not a commission or anything."

"Alright then," Tony shrugged. It seems, once he found out that there was no money in it, it did not interest him.

None of the other's said anything else. Kloppman gave him the thumbs-up. "Go right ahead."

David took a few steps back, trying to get most of the group in his shot, as he set up his camera. He tried to do it as quietly as he could; he did not want to clicking and snapping of the camera to interrupt the meeting.

Almost right away, the rest of them seemed to ignore his presence. They went back to what they were doing before David interrupted them.

Kloppman tried again. "Who wants to start?"

This time, Skittery sat straight up in his seat. "I'll go, Kloppy."

"Wonderful. What do you have to share with us, son? How do you feel?"

"I feel scared shitless. How do you think I feel?" Skittery was scowling again.

Kloppman, it seemed, was just as used to his attitude. He gestured for him to continue. "And why is that?"

Skittery huffed and cast his eyes around the room before settling on the benign face of the old man right in front of him. "Oh, I don't know. Let's see. Maybe it's because I went to see my doc the other day. He told me that my T-cells were getting low. He says I'm getting close to the end and he doesn't know what to do anymore."

Another tense quiet followed Skittery's admission. The only sound that could be heard was the clicking of David's camera. Blink shot him a look that told him it was not the moment to be snapping away; David got the hint and lowered his camera.

"Alright, Skittery. How did you feel when he told you that?" Kloppman asked.

Skittery looked thoughtful for a second before cracking a smile. It looked quite at odds with his hardened face. "Actually, I felt pretty damn good."

"Then why are you afraid?"

"I'm a New Yorker. Fear's my life."

The tension lifted. The group allowed themselves a chuckle. They could all relate to Skittery's sentiment. They were not laughing at him, though – they were laughing at themselves. Sometimes it was just good to do that. To remind themselves that they are not dead yet. Sick, definitely. Dead, not quite – not yet.

David chose that moment to take a snapshot.

Years later, when almost all of the people in that picture had succumbed to disease (including Kloppman, who died of cancer two years following this meeting – though he continued hosting the Life Support meetings more than ever after he found out his own health was failing), David would look back on that day.

In that picture, he saw life. It was a pressured life, thrust in front of a very real threat of death. But those people – those six people he captured with his camera – were living their lives.

The picture was probably one of the best that he had ever taken: Kloppman was smiling at Skittery, who, for once, had lost his guarded expression. Charlotte had lifted her head up and there was a spark of hope in her nearly-dead green eyes. Tony was out and out laughing, his mouth caught wide open – it was not difficult at all to read his expression in that picture.

And then there was Blink and Mush. Sitting there as if all was right in the world, even though they had only met the day before and had no idea of what lay in store for them in the months to come.

Even though they were sitting there, laughing along with the other groups at the comment Skittery made, there was just something about them that set them apart.

It had taken him repeated viewings of the picture to figure out just what it was. There, just behind their chair, hard to see due to the angle of the shot, he could see it: the two of them were inconspicuously holding hands. They were acting like a pair of teenagers in love and it was that simple gesture, more than every other emotion caught in that one picture, that broke David's heart every time he looked at it.


	9. And to top it all of, I'm with you

Author's Note: _And here is the next chapter of LOST. I wasn't going to write this today because (gasp) the last chapter only received eight reviews. Then I thought that that wasn't really fair to the eight people who did review, so I decided to do it. So, despite it still being NaNoWriMo, I will update every Wednesday but, if a chapter _does _get ten reviews by the weekend, I'll do another chapter on Saturday/Sunday. How's that sound? Yeah, I'm so good to you all. _

_Well, this chapter is, again, an example at how I will take creative license with the story. And, for that reason, I think that this chapter (at least the beginning) is my favorite one so far. It's weird but I like it. I hope you guys do, too. Woot! _

Disclaimer: _I do not own, nor stake any claim, to any of the original characters shamelessly borrowed from _Newsies_ – they are the property of Disney, © 1992. Any other character, when noted, is property of their respective owner and will be noted in the disclaimer. The core idea to this story – the adaptation of the Broadway musical, _RENT,_ is © 1996 to Jonathan Larson. _

--

_How can you connect in an age where strangers, landlords, lovers, your own blood cells betray?  
_Because one can never be sure if such a moment could be the last...

November 15, 2006

--

_And to top it all off, I'm with you… _

--

_"Good morning, Jack. It's time to rise and shine." _

Sarah?

_Jack heard the familiar female voice and sluggishly opened his eyes. He had made sure to go to sleep early the night before so as to get the damn holiday over with but, by sleeping for so long, he was now _over_tired. And possibly hearing things… _

_The old comforter that he had pulled over his head the night before was still there so, when he opened his brown eyes, all he saw was "My Little Pony", faded with age. He liked to use Sarah's old blanket; it still smelled like her to him. _

_But, wait. Sarah was talking to him. Wasn't she? Wasn't that what had woken him up? _

_He fought to remove the blanket from his head. His limbs were heavy and were no use to him as he wrestled with Minty and her friends. _

_Finally, just when Jack thought that Butterscotch was going to win, his head emerged out from under the blanket. He looked around eagerly. He was still on his couch, where he had passed out the night before, so he had a clear view into the kitchen and what he saw surprised the hell out of him. _

_Sarah was standing there, wearing that silly green 'Kiss the Cook' apron she liked to wear when she cooked breakfast on Sundays. Now, Jack knew it was a Sunday, so that was not what was weird – it was the fact that _Sarah _was standing there that Sunday. _

_"Sarah?" he asked, just to make sure. Not that he would ever mistake her for someone else. Her long brown hair, her bright eyes, her charming smile… there was no doubt about it. This was Sarah. _

_"Of course it's me, silly. Look at you, sleeping late like this. You're going to miss your breakfast," Sarah said. The way she spoke to Jack was as if he was a child who needed to be told what to do. She shook her head playfully at him. "Come now. It's time to get out of bed, Jack." _

_Jack was still confused but he did what Sarah said. He climbed off of the couch and set the crumpled comforter over its arm. However, he did not walk towards the kitchen just yet. "Sarah? Aren't you dead? I mean, I went to the funeral myself. I saw you. You killed yourself… didn't you?" _

_Right before waking up, Jack knew that Sarah was dead, had been dead for two years now. But, standing there, facing off with the girl, it was a lot harder for him to accept that. _

_Sarah widened her eyes before laughing girlishly. "What a dream you must have been having, Jack. Maybe it's a good thing that I woke you up when I did. Me? Commit suicide? How silly," she said, her voice rising in pitch to match the girly way in which she had laughed. It was not the normal way that Sarah spoke but, at that moment, Jack did not care; he was just relieved that Sarah was still there. _

_"A dream?" Jack echoed. "Yeah, of course. That must be right." He cracked a smile, almost laughing at himself. "I don't know where that came from but, I tell you, it was sure realistic. I remember David telling me about your death, I remember your mother crying… I even remember the note. Wow. That must have been one hell of a dream." _

_He pulled on the oversized grey sweatpants he was wearing, making sure not to trip, as he made his way over to the kitchen. Sarah had prepared him her special Sunday breakfast and, as always, she had covered it with a lid so that the meal would be a surprise. _

_"Go take your seat at the table, Jack," she instructed as she picked up the plate and led the way over to the small oval table by the (not broken) window. _

_Something seemed wrong about this to Jack – and not just the fact that Sarah was standing there before him – but he did not say anything. Instead, he pulled one of the two seats away from the table and sat down. _

_Sarah waited until he was seated before setting the plate before him. But, when Jack reached a hand out to remove the lid, she smacked it away. _

_"Wait a moment, Jack. We need to put your bib on. We know how messy of an eater you are," she said, grinning coyly, as she gestured to the white shirt he was wearing. Where it had been white when he went to bed (as far as he could remember), it was currently stained with something crunchy and reddish brown. The sight reminded him of blood and his stomach turned. _

It is blood…

_Sarah walked behind him and guided his arms upward. He had no idea as to what she was doing but his mind was so preoccupied with other matters, he let her do it. Once his arms were lifted up over his head, she leaned down and grabbed the hem of his undershirt. Without a word, she lifted the dirty shirt up off of his head, leaving him naked from the waist up. _

_Jack thought it was quite strange that Sarah felt the need to remove his shirt before putting a bib on – he thought it was quite strange that Sarah wanted him to wear a bib – but he let her go on with it. It was just so good to have her there with him. _

_From out of nowhere, Sarah produced a red (with black and white print) bandana. She folded it into a triangle before twisted the ends of it into coils; she then tied the coils around Jack's neck. "There. Your bib. Now you can eat, my love," Sarah announced as she lifted the lid up off of the plate with a flourish. _

_Jack licked his lips in anticipation of what Sarah had prepared for him. But, when he saw what she had done, he lost any and all appetite he had had: she had taken ten AZT pills and had arranged them on the plate in the form of a smiley face: two for the eyes, one for the nose and seven for a wide grin. _

_He looked from the plate to Sarah and back to the plate. "What is this?" _

_As soon as she had lifted the lid off of his 'breakfast', Sarah had begun to remove her green apron. It was off and scrunched up in her hand; she playfully smacked Jack in the head with the cloth. "Your breakfast, of course. Go on. Eat up." _

_"How?" _

_Sarah tossed the apron down onto the table and added the lid on top of it. She mimed the gesture of eating as she explained how to do so, slowly. "Simple. Open your mouth, put in the food and chew." She took a moment to make an over exaggerated chewing gesture before smiling, and wiping her hands clean of imaginary dirt. "Now, I'm sorry, honey, but I have to be going. If I don't hurry up now, I might miss my bus." _

Bus… Sarah… Bus…

No. Not again.

_Jack pushed his chair away from the table as he watched Sarah flounce out of the apartment. "Sarah. Wait for me," he called as he got up and hurried after her. He stumbled on one of the long pant legs and cursed under his breath as she got a head start. She was at least a flight of stairs ahead of him by the time he finally made it out of the apartment. Nevertheless, he continued to run after her. "Sarah. Don't go near that bus!" _

_The only answer he got was another high-pitched giggle. _

_It seemed to take forever but, when he finally emerged onto the street, he quickly turned his head to the left, first, and then the right before spying Sarah. She was standing on a street corner at the end of the block, waiting. "Sarah!" _

_She did not turn around. He knew it was her though – her short stature, her long brown hair, the very way she stood there. There was no doubt about it. _

_He hiked up the waist of his pants as he ran, barefoot, towards her. He could hear the morning bus barreling down the street and knew it would only be a matter of seconds before Sarah did it again, before she walked right in front of an unsuspecting bus driver. _

_"Sarah!" he called, his voice strangling as he tried with all his might to make it to her. Somewhere, deep within him, he knew he would never make it. He had not saved her the first time; he would not do it again. _

_And then it happened. A few feet away from the corner, he tripped. His bare foot snagged on the oversized leg of his sweatpants and he tripped. He fell forward, calling out one word: "No!" _

_As he watched with unbelieving eyes, she took a step off of the curb and paused. The bus was only a block away now. It was time. _

_She took another step forward and turned around to face Jack. But, to his surprise, when she faced him, he saw this it was not Sarah who was standing there – it was Jessica. She lifted her petite hand, with that minor burn from her candle, and waved at him. "Jack," she whispered, though he did not hear her whisper over the roar of the bus. _

_He tried to get to his feet, he really did. But he could not. He reached an arm to her instead, disregarding the fact that there was at least seven feet separating them. "No, don't!" _

_She smiled and shook her head. _

_And then, right before his eyes, she jumped backwards – just as the bus ran by. _

BAM!

Jack, who had been sleeping – and actually having one hell of a dream then – jumped up at the loud sound. The plain white afghan he had been using as a blanket (and not the "My Little Pony" one that he kept folded in a trunk along with most of Sarah's other possessions) flew up with him and landed at the edge of the couch as Jack sat up, his heart pounding. He had been stolen so abruptly from his sleep that he felt as if he was having a heart attack.

"Wha—what the hell was that?" he asked, quite incoherently, as he tried to put his eyes back into his head and stop his heart from beating triple time.

He turned his head to his right and saw David standing there with a smug expression on his face – and his hands suspiciously behind his back. "Dave, what just happened?"

David tried to look innocent but there was something about the slant of his grin that belied the wideness of his blue eyes. He brought his hands before him, showing Jack exactly what it was that had made the loud noise that had woken him up: a metal pot and a giant metal spoon. He could not help himself and he banged the two of them together again.

BAM!

Now that Jack heard it while he was awake, it sounded much more like the loud banging of a pot and a spoon but, in the middle of such a strange dream, it really had sounded like a bus running into a girl. He shivered and climbed out of the couch. "You know, Dave, I'd watch out if I was you. I'm gonna have to get you back for that."

David laughed as he turned his back on Jack and walked into the kitchen. He bent down and put the pot back into the cabinet where he kept all of the kitchen equipment; he just threw the spoon into the sink. "I don't think so, Jack," he said, turning around and resting his hands behind him on the counter. "In fact, I think that was only fair. Let's not forget the whole 'write-on-Dave-with-a-permanent-marker' thing from yesterday."

"Well, you should never have slept on my couch," Jack tossed back as he reached for the afghan and began to fold it up. Now that David had woken him up in such a manner, he did not think that he would be able to fall back asleep anytime soon. As he leaned forward to bring the two ends of the wide afghan together, he saw that he was wearing the same oversized grey sweatpants that he had been wearing in his dream. He made a mental note to roll them up before bed in the future.

"Alright. I'll give you that one. We all know about your secret love affair with the damn couch, so I'll let that slide. But how about telling Blink about Annie and me? Was that necessary?"

Jack thought about it for a second before nodding. "Actually, yes. It was. You couldn't expect me to keep something like that to myself, could you?"

David just glared at him. He did not even answer him.

"Fine. I won't get you back for the pot banging thing. We're even now. Okay?"

"Yeah, okay."

"Good," Jack said as he tossed the folded afghan onto the edge of the couch. He subconsciously pulled at the waist of his pants before joining David in the kitchen. It was only then that he noticed that David was fully dressed, wearing his shoes, already in his coat and, unless Jack's senses were still dulled from sleep and he was imagining this, too, David was wearing that musty cologne that Jack hated but Twister adored.

Jack cocked his head to the side as he reached for the coffee percolator. To get over the dream he had just had, he was going to need a gallon of coffee. He might as well start brewing it now. "Dave? What's with the get up? You heading out on me or something?"

David glanced down at his clothes before shrugging. "It is almost eleven thirty, Jack. I promised Annie that I would meet her down at the lot today at noon and help her with her equipment. Remember?"

Vaguely, that seemed to ring a bell with him. Besides, Jack should have known that it had something to do with Twister. For who else would Dave get all cleaned up and wear cologne for? Even though it had been two months since she dumped him, David still had it bad for her – even if he did not admit it.

Jack debated teasing David about his lingering affection for his ex-girlfriend but decided against it. David, after all, had more than enough ammunition with which to sling at Jack – especially after that girl from downstairs gave that note to Mush to deliver to him. He was just glad that David had decided to get revenge on him for his antics on Christmas by banging a pot by his ear. If David had wanted to be cruel, he could have always paid a visit to Jessica.

He shrugged, letting the soothing sounds of the dripping coffee occupy him instead of taunting David. "Have fun… _sucker_." Alright, he could not keep it _all _inside.

David, however, chose to ignore that. He knew exactly how Jack viewed his current relationship with Annie and he did not want to get into it with him now. Besides, if he replied to Jack's comment, he would be late in meeting with Annie.

And he could not have that.

--

David lifted the long sleeve of his brown overcoat so that his watch was visible. The digital screen told him that it was 11:59 am, that he had made it just outside the lot with only a minute to spare.

He did not see anyone outside on the lot – well, he saw plenty of them, all homeless, but as they were not Annie, it did not matter – but he figured that, since it was so cold outside, Annie would be working in the small performance building that took up much of the lot.

Always one to be on time, David waited until his watch beeped that it was 12 o'clock noon before walking over to the building and opening the door.

He had been inside of this building before and was always surprised at how large it seemed from the inside. It was an open space, with an open floor, with a makeshift stage all the way at the end.

There was one other person in the room when he entered the side door – and it was not Annie. As soon as he entered, the person, who was hunched over something on the stage, lifted her head. There was a smile on her caramel-skinned face but, once she saw who had walked into the room, the smile faded.

"I told her not to call you," was the greeting that David received.

Not that David was not feeling the same way at finding Kara Allen inside the room. When Annie had called him on Christmas, and asked him to help out with her equipment, he had assumed that she would be there when he arrived. 

She was not. Her girlfriend was. The same girlfriend that she had dumped him for.

_Awkward… _

David wanted to retort to Kara's comment. He wanted to say nasty things to her and berate her for stealing his girlfriend. But he could not. Instead, he faked a smile. "Well, I'm here anyway. Is there anything I can do?"

Kara brushed her long dark hair out of her face as she bent back down over the large black box that was taken up much of the stage's space: the sound system. She gave it a once over before turning back to David. "Maybe. You know how to work one of these things?"

She was pointing at the box, with her other hand resting on her hip. She did not look happy to have to ask him for _anything_; but, then again, she did not look happy to be dealing the sound system either. It was as if it was a choice between the better of two evils: David or the sound system. She chose David.

David nodded. "Sure. It's simple."

"Then what are you doing over there?" Kara shot back, annoyed at herself for having to ask him for help.

"Alright then," David mumbled under his breath as he walked across the empty room and made his way to the stage. Once he got beside Kara, he removed his overcoat and placed it on the floor. "So, what's the problem with it?"

Kara threw her hands up in the air. "I have no clue. I press the on switch, it doesn't work. I plug it in, I press the buttons, nothing. I got a spark the other day and that was it. This piece of shit just doesn't want to start."

"Did you ask Annie – Twister – for help?" David could not help himself. He had to ask.

Kara snorted. "I told her about the problem, if that's what you want to know. What did she do? She called your skinny white ass for help. Without telling me, I might add. You know, after we spent Christmas together, she went out this morning but promised me that she'd meet me here after she got some errands taken care of. But, as you can see, she's not here. And, to top it all off, I'm with you."

"Hey, I wasn't expecting to find you here. Annie said to meet her here at noon. I'm here, she's not. But, I'm not surprised. That's just Annie. You learn to get used to it after awhile."

"Not me. I don't put up with that nonsense." Kara was lying, lying through her teeth, but there was no reason why David needed to know that.

But he did. He chuckled as he walked behind the sound system and started to fiddle with the wires and buttons. He did not even need to look down as he worked with the massive black box. He kept his blue eyes on Kara's dark brown ones. "Why don't you pull the other leg while you're at it?"

Kara crossed her arms over her considerable sized chest. "What's that supposed to mean, _Davey_?"

David tensed at that name but ignored it. "I think you know, Kara. I mean, why else are you here, without Annie?"

"Twister is busy. She has her performance tomorrow and there's a lot for her to do. Besides, she said she'll be down here very soon."

David shook his head. "You don't have to try to convince me. I know what Annie is like. Trust me. I lived with that woman for years, so I know what she's like. She won't do anything for herself unless she can help it. Why do you think she has us? She doesn't love us. She doesn't love anyone."

David stood up, his voice becoming clearer as he spoke. Despite the shocked expression on Kara's face, David continued. He had been holding all of this in for quite some time. It felt good to be letting this out – especially to the girl who had freed him from Annie.

"Do you know how many times she cheated on me? I was her fall back, that was all. She knew I would do anything for her. Shit, I would still do anything for her," he added, gesturing at the box, "and she knows it. Tell me, honestly, would you do anything for her?"

Kara could not believe what David was saying. It only occurred to her that he had finished his rant with a question when he stared at her expectantly, awaiting her answer. She shook her head. "Yeah, of course, but that's because I love her—"

She did not get to finish her statement. David cut her off with a knowing look. "Does she call you 'pookie' yet?"

"Wha—no. I may call Twister by her nickname but I don't need one. Especially not one so infantile as 'pookie'," Kara replied, adopting a haughty tone. She was trying not to show how much David had rattled her with his words. "Listen. This conversation is too weird for me."

"Fucking weird," David agreed with a smirk, most unlike him. He was feeling relieved and the expression told Kara that.

Kara waved her hand in an effort to clear the air. "Yeah, anyway. You came down her to fix the sound system. Why don't you do that?"

David gestured to the box. "I did already. Check it out."

"Oh." Kara lowered her defiant glare and walked around David so that she was behind the box. She flipped the on switch and was surprised to see that the display had lit up. "Lucky shot," she mumbled.

David just smiled. He picked up his overcoat, slung it over his arm, and stepped off of the stage. He could tell that Kara was staring daggers at his back but he did not care. He made it all the way to the door before spinning around. He blew Kara a kiss – she flinched – and waved. "Tell Annie I said hi."

And, with that, he left. For once, David Jacobs had gotten the last word. It felt good, too.


	10. Well it's gotta be close to midnight

Author's Note: _Well, ten reviews equals a chapter, so here it is. It's a little shorter than I have been rooting for but if I continued on I would have had to get through the "Another Day" scene and, quite honestly, I'm pooped. Add that to the fact that Rutgers, who had been undefeated all season, is having their butts handed to them by Cincinnati (grumble), and I still have not written a word for my novel today, and I hope you can see why I ended it where I did. _

_But, can I just say that I had way too much fun with writing the strip scenes? Woot. I always enjoyed the Benny/Mimi scenes from the musical (there definitely should have been more) and I definitely think that comes across in the way that I portray Spot and Jess's wacked out relationship. These are always my favorite parts so, I guess you really can't blame me for prolonging these scenes. Right? Mwahahaha… I hope you guys enjoy it! _

Disclaimer: _I do not own, nor stake any claim, to any of the original characters shamelessly borrowed from _Newsies_ – they are the property of Disney, © 1992. Any other character, when noted, is property of their respective owner and will be noted in the disclaimer. The core idea to this story – the adaptation of the Broadway musical, _RENT,_ is © 1996 to Jonathan Larson. _

--

_How can you connect in an age where strangers, landlords, lovers, your own blood cells betray?  
_Because one can never be sure if such a moment could be the last...

November 18, 2006

--

_What's the time?  
Well it's gotta be close to midnight… _

--

_Come on feel the noise…  
Girls rock your boys…  
We'll get wild, wild, wild!  
Wild, wild, wild! _

The music was pumping so loud that it was quite hard to concentrate. Not that Jess needed to concentrate, really. It was her fourth dance of her shift and, besides, how hard was it to take off her clothes seductively and then wiggle about in order to convince a bunch of drunken idiots to stick money in her exposed g-string?

_So you think my singing's out of time, it makes me money…  
__I don't know why…  
I don't know why, anymore… _

_Oh, no… _

She removed the cropped leather jacket she had on and purposely bent over, presenting her ass to the crowd, to place it neatly on the stage. The men who had seats close to the stage cheered at the sight and she stood up quickly. She spun around and brought her fingers up to her mouth in a sign of faux surprise at their excitement. She did not hold the pose very long. When Kevin DuBrow hit his note on '_Oh, no'_, she dropped her hand, smiled wickedly and thrust her hips towards the crowd.

The matching black leather mini-skirt she was wearing was the next to go. She had it made especially for this number; the skirt was nothing more than a wrap-around that velcroed at the back. She ripped the velcro and let it fall to the side. She was down to her silver sequined black underwear, her black bustier and the thigh high boots she wore. _Almost done… _

For the next few stanzas of the 80's glam rock anthem she chose as her last song of the night, Jess did the standard stripper tricks: spin on the pole, crawl on her hands and knees towards the edge of the stage, present some of the clients with a close up and personal view of her tits.

_Come on (come on) feel it…  
Girls rock your boys (girls rock it)…  
We'll get wild, wild, wild…  
We're gonna get wild (wild,wild,wild)… _

One man up front, middle-aged and balding with a double chin, thought it would be amusing to put a bill in his mouth and lean into the stage to offer it to her. Jess was tempted to ignore him – or even to signal to one of the bouncers to get him out of her face for being lewd – but that was before she saw that it was Ben Franklin that was winking up at her from that bill. As disgusted with herself as she was for doing it, Jess squatted down, resting flat on her heels and leaned in. She got the bill in her teeth and pulled her head back before the man could try to kiss her or anything.

Now, the man may not have had the chance to reach in and plant his drunken lips against her cheek but he did take the opportunity to grab at her chest with one of his large hands. He got one cheap feel off her left breast before she backed out of his reach. She removed the one hundred dollar bill out of her mouth and tried not to make an annoyed face; it was a struggle but she was able to bring a fake smile to her face. She stood up and made a 'no-no' gesture with her fingers as she backed away.

_Rock it tonight (girls rock your boys)…  
We'll get wild, wild, wild… _

OH YEAH!!

Jess was at the part in her routine – her big finish, one could say – where she removes her bustier and gives the crowd what they were there to see. She refused to do it except once a night and it usually came during her last number before her shift ended at midnight. However, just as the song was ending, and she was trying not to look back at the man who groped her, her eyes lowered of their own accord to where that disgusting man was.

He was not looking up at her, though. His attention was occupied by a somewhat short man with fair hair who, she could barely see from her position on the stage below the lights, was heatedly arguing with him. The balding man was holding up his hands defensively but, when the short man pointed at his chest and then turned and gestured towards her, Jess recognized him.

Spot was at the club.

_Shit. What is he doing here? _

_Come on, feel the noise…  
Girls rock your boys…  
We'll get wild, wild, wild… _

Ah, ah, ah…  
Ah, ah, ah…

The song ended with Jess standing on stage, watching the dispute between Spot and the bald man, while still wearing her buster and her g-string. With the last note, she struck a provocative pose, before hurrying off the stage and into the back room. Now that she knew that Spot was there, she wanted nothing more than to put on some other clothes, pocket her earnings and get the hell out of the Kit Kat Club.

"Hey, Chance? Where's the fire?"

Jess was so worried about making it out of the club without running into Spot (_seriously, what the hell is he doing here?_) that she did not notice the other girl who was changing in the back room.

"Oh, hey Shoe," she replied quietly, her thoughts elsewhere. She made her way to her locker and opened it up. She began to remove all of the crumpled and sweat-damped bills from out of her skimpy clothes, oblivious to Shoe's questioning gaze.

"Is everything alright? You look a little pale," the blonde girl asked, wearing her street clothes – red and black stockings and a baby doll dress, black with white polka dots. She was done for the night, too; her last dance was the second one before Jess's.

_Nothing a good fix and a night out on the town won't cure… _"Yeah. I'm fine. Just a little flushed from my last performance. I'll be fine."

Shoe patted her bobbed hair and fluffed her bangs while staring in the mirror hanging inside of her locker. Once she was satisfied with her appearance, she slammed her locker closed and walked over to where Jess was currently exchanging her bustier for her wonder bra. She punched her lightly on her bare shoulder. "I got a message for you."

"Let me guess. You saw Spot."

Shoe actually had the nerve to look surprised that Jess knew he was there. "Yup. I did a quick tour of the floor after my dance in order to catch a few more bucks. He snagged my elbow just past the bar. Asked me if I could get you to talk to him. Gave me a ten so I said I'd try."

"I ain't going out there to see his cheating ass," Jess proclaimed quite defiantly. She rolled her green eyes as she slipped her spaghetti-strapped white tank over her head. She lifted her light brown curls out from under the shirt and turned to Shoe. "Besides, what does that prick want? He was gone for three months and now he's stalking me?"

"Hell if I know. He wanted to talk to you and, hey, I can't make you do anything you don't want to do, Chance. Or should I say _Jessie_," Shoe said with a wicked grin. She knew that the girl's name was really Jessica but if she wanted to go by Shoe, she would call her colleague by her nickname, too. It was just weird for Spot Conlon to be calling her such a juvenile name; it amused her and she could not help but toss that out.

Jess snorted. "How about no?"

Shoe laughed. "Whatever. Anyway, I have to be going. Got a hot date tonight," she said, biting down on her lip while nodding.

_No wonder she's all dolled up. Lucky. The guy I want totally ignored my advances yesterday. _She adjusted the straps on her tank, glad that Shoe was leaving her be in the back room. She just wanted to be alone right then."Hey, Shoe? What's the time?"

Shoe shrugged her shoulders as she reached for her purse and her coat (she was smart enough to wear one that night; she spent all Christmas Day sniffling for her neglect on Friday). "I don't know. It's gotta be close to midnight, I guess. The club'll be closing soon so, if you don't want to see Conlon, I'd suggest you get out of here before he comes _in _here."

Neither of the women would put it past him. When Jess and Spot had been dating, he had found his way into the stripper's back room more than once. Of course, then he was showering her with presents and flowers. God only knew what he wanted now.

_Probably a quickie_, Jess thought to herself, turning away from Shoe and making a face. _I guess I'm not much good for anything else. _

Shoe held her hand up as a parting gesture, even thought Jess did not see it. "Tomorrow night, Chance?"

"As always," Jess called over her shoulder, a little less enthusiastically than normal.

As soon as Shoe left, Jess reached in her locker and pulled out the blue jeans she had stowed in the back. They were there as a last resort, whenever she forgot to bring a change of clothing, or she spilled something on her other clothes. She hated the feel of the coarse fabric against her thighs and refused to wear jeans if she could help it. Which, of course, was why she pulled them on over her underwear. Spot would never expect her to leave the club in jeans.

She turned her leopard print coat inside out so that the black lining was showing and pulled it on. She checked the insides of the pockets real quick – her nightly earnings and her little white baggy were tucked safely inside – and shut her locker. She was ready to go.

--

It was cold outside but Jess was surprised to learn that her coat was much warmer turned inside out; the faux fur kept her body warm while the black lining protected against the wind. She had lifted the hood up so that she could hide her face and was rewarded when she finally made it outside and managed to evade Spot. She saw his car, his Mercedes, parked haphazardly on the street in front of the club but she did not see him waiting inside.

Her nerves more settled now that she knew that she was safe from having to encounter Spot again – Friday night was enough for quite some time – Jess was able to make it back to her apartment in record time. Her body was crying out for some of the drug; her very spirit wanted to go out for the night and just be free.

Christmas had been depressing. She spent the morning alone; she had called her mother at home but got no response. None of her family lived in the City and she could not bring herself to visit any of her friends – they were all strippers, too, and were doing their own thing.

It was still early when she decided to give that handsome man from upstairs another chance. It had been an interesting first (real) meeting and she was quite anxious to get to actually know him. She wrote out a note for him with the intent to slide it under his door. However, once she got upstairs, she was surprised to see that nice drag queen, the one who usually did performance art just off Avenue B, waiting outside his door. She asked her if she would give it to Jack. The queen agreed and Jess went back to her apartment to wait.

She waited for a couple of hours before she realized that Jack was not coming. That depressed her so much that she did not even bother shooting up. She just climbed into her bed, grateful that the electricity had come back on. She had her plug in heater running at full blast right next to her small bed and she had fallen asleep before long.

In fact, she did not wake up until two o'clock the next afternoon. She had just enough time to shower, get a quick fix (to wake her up) and get ready to report for her four o'clock shift down at the Kit Kat Club.

Now, however, it had been nearly two whole days since she had the opportunity to go out and actually have a really good time. She needed to go out tonight. The question was: with who?

Jess knew that she could have gone to see what Spot Conlon was doing at the club. If he was that desperate to see her – he was the type of men, she knew now, who needed as many women as possible and it irked him when one turned him down – then it would have been no problem to get him to ditch his wife for the night to go out. But _she _was not that desperate.

No. The one that she wanted to go out with was the one who was ignoring her.

She knew what Spot was feeling like in that respect but, apart from that, the main difference between their situations was huge: Jess was ignoring Spot because he was _married_; she had no idea as to why Jack was ignoring her.

By the time Jess had made it up the five flights to her apartment, she had made a choice. She did not know why Jack was ignoring her but maybe it was because she was not up front about being attracted to him as she could be. Maybe she needed to be more assertive to get his attention. And that was just what she was going to do.

She stopped at her apartment first, though. It took her a few minutes to get the busted door open – one day she would have to get that fixed – but, when she did, she flicked the light switch on. She was mildly concerned that maybe Spot had decided to cut the power again so, when the small room was illuminated, she breathed a sigh of relief. It may not have been as cold as Friday night, when she had to use three blankets to keep warm and it _still _did not do the job sufficiently, but it was cold enough that she did not want to be without her heater.

If she was home to sleep in her own bed, that was.

Jess reached her hand inside her coat pocket and took out both the cash she had made and her little white bag of happiness. She shoved the cash in the back pocket of her jeans and palmed the baggy. She then shed the coat and tossed it on the floor.

She ran her fingers through her hair and stopped to grab a breath mint out of the bowl in her cramped kitchen. If she was going to try to seduce that man, she could not do it with strip club breath.

--

It was quiet in the apartment. Well, not entirely. David's soft snuffles and wheezes were a constant reminder of the silence but Jack did not mind the minor sounds. In fact, though he would _never _admit it to David, the sound of his snoring comforted him when he was staying up late to work on his writing. There was something about the quiet that midnight brings that got his literary juices flowing.

Because that creepy dream of his from that morning had nothing to do with his inability to go to sleep. Nope, not at all.

Jack was sitting on the edge of the old floral print couch, leaning in so that he could use the coffee table as something to write on. He had finally been able to start the short story he had tried to begin on Christmas Eve; he was four pages into it and feeling pretty good about it.

He picked up his pen and lifted it to his lips. He nibbled on the cap of it for a second while trying to figure out how to start his next paragraph.

David snorted in his sleep in the far part of the loft and Jack lifted his head up to smile. One of these days he would have to tell David about all of the funny sounds he made while he was sleeping.


	11. Romance? Come back another day

Author's Note: _Well, as noted, I took a few days break but, here's another chapter. It's another part-movie, part-imagination chapter. In this case, we see what Spot really was doing in the strip club (aww, he's not a stalker; shucks). Also, we have the _Another Day _sequence which, like _Tango Maureen_, is quick. Seriously, songs like those make this difficult. Can I just say that I can't wait for _La Vie Boheme_? Now, that will be fun._

_PS. I love David. He is now my favorite character in this story ;) Yay for random babbling in your sleep. Oh, and I have not checked this yet. I admit that. I'm lazy tonight and wanted to have this posted on a Wednesday. Any errors will be corrected later... woot._

Disclaimer: _I do not own, nor stake any claim, to any of the original characters shamelessly borrowed from _Newsies – _they are the property of Disney, © 1992. Any other character, when noted, is property of their respective owner and will be noted in the disclaimer. The core idea to this story – the adaptation of the Broadway musical, _RENT, _is © 1996 to Jonathan Larson._

--

_How can you connect in an age where strangers, landlords, lovers, your own blood cells betray?  
_Because one can never be sure if such a moment could be the last...

November 29, 2006

--

_Looking for romance?  
__Come back another day…_

--

Spot shuffled his leather shoes forward, purposely mucking up the beige carpet that led to his apartment door. He had his dark grey suit jacket slung over one shoulder and his blood red tie hanging loosely around his neck. The only things that were missing to make this look like the stereotypical 'I-just-got-laid-and-now-I'm-going-home-to-the-wife' trek back through the plush hallway were the satisfied smirk and a half-smoked cigarette. Oh, and maybe the fact that, despite his minor attempt to get Jess to talk to him again, he had not gotten laid at all.

_God, I wish I could have a smoke right now, _Spot thought as he made his way to the door. After the day (and night) he had had, a nice dose of lung-blackening nicotine would make it all better.

First, he had had a business meeting with his investor – his father-in-law. That, of course, did not go too well. Spot had told Mr. Kelly that neither David nor Jack was prepared to convince that two-bit twit, Twister, to cancel her show. Mr. Kelly, understandably, was annoyed with him and ordered him to accompany him to her show down at the lot on Tuesday evening. Of course, they would not be alone. Mr. Kelly planned on bringing quite a few policemen with them in order to shut the show down before Twister could start any trouble. He was still very intent on knocking down the small building on the lot and forcing the homeless who set up a small tent city on the grounds to move along so that he could erect another skyscraper – _how many does this godforsaken city need? _– before another year had passed.

Then it had been up to Spot to find a cemetery to bury Rae's damn dog, 'Sippi. The stupid mutt had committed suicide – if a dog could even do that – by jumping out of the open window in the drawing room. On Christmas Eve, no less. Rae had gotten Maria, their live-in maid who could not speak one word of English, to retrieve the broken body of the Chihuahua from the center of their apartment building's courtyard and place it in a cardboard box.

Spot had wanted to just chuck the box, and the dog, into the nearest trash bin but Rae did not think too highly of his suggestion. She loved 'Sippi and blamed herself for his death – she had left the window open that morning before going out for her weekly manicure and pedicure. When she came home, she found the maid looking for el perrito only to have the landlord himself call her with their discovery.

Of course, there was nothing they could do with the body on Christmas Eve or Christmas Day. They left the dog in the box in their spare guest room – Spot was praying the entire time that it did not start to rot – until Monday. Then it was up to Spot to hunt down some sort of pet cemetery; Rae point blank refused to have him baked in an oven.

Strangely enough, it was not that difficult to find one – there was a prominent one in Staten Island at the Church of St. Andrews. He called up the Church and made arrangements for one of his business associates – alright, one of the mail boys who worked in one of Mr. Kelly's buildings – to drop off 'Sippi's box. The funeral would be on Tuesday.

At least he got out of going to that. Rae would be going with the third Mrs. Kelly, Muffy, and Maria as her guests – Spot would be with Mr. Kelly at Twister's show.

A business dinner with a few of Mr. Kelly's business partners – boring as they were, if Spot wanted to get ahead in this world, there were the sort of people he needed to mesh with – had ended a rather unpleasant day. At least, he thought that was the end.

Until one of Mr. Kelly's oldest friends, a dirty old man named Wiesel – Mr. Kelly had confided in him once that most of their associates called him Weasel behind his back due to his rodent-like facial features – thought it would be amusing to leave the ritzy restaurant they were in in favor of a more _entertaining _venue.

Spot had wanted to decline. Really, he did. But, when the Weasel mentioned a 'quaint' establishment he knew called the Kit Kat Club, he changed his mind. After paying for the dinner with his American Express Gold Card, he agreed to follow the men to the club.

He had brought his car with him to the meeting and offered to drive. Even though Rae's father had not been at that meeting, Spot made a great display of pretending not to know anything about the Kit Kat Club. He asked Weasel for directions and made snide comments as to how men of their caliber would be received by the people in the club. He just hoped that none of the dancers or bartenders he had made acquaintance with during his whirlwind romance with Jess would tip him off to his colleagues. The last thing he needed was to Rae to find out about his infidelities.

Spot was lucky. He was able to sit with the three other men at a table near the back for two hours, drinking sociably and watching the dancers up on stage. They had arrived just before ten o'clock – the bar did not close until half past midnight.

He made a quick phone call (in the bathroom so that she would not exactly where he was) around eleven to let Rae know that he was out with her father's buddies and to expect him home late. She had not sounded happy – she was still mourning the dead dog – but she agreed.

Sipping on only his second rum and coke – he was the designated driver, since it was his car, and did not want to get plastered before getting behind the wheel – Spot watched as the three other men, all at least twenty-five years old than him and all drunk, ogled the young dancers on stage.

He could not help his jealous tendencies when Jess performed shortly after he returned from the bathroom. She was doing a raunchy cowboy routine to David Allen Coe's "The Rodeo Song", complete with tassels attached to her star-shaped bra. He almost wanted to purposely draw the three businessmen's attention away from the stage – their drooling was making him pissed.

It was when Weasel turned around, just as Jess ended her number, and elbowed Spot in the ribs, smirking, "Give me some of that," that Spot lost it. With an overly fake smile, he excused himself and headed straight to the bar. He was tired of the rum and cokes – he needed something a lot stronger to get the image of Weasel screwing the curly-haired girl out of his mind.

He stayed at the bar for the next few songs. At about half past eleven, he watched as Cassie did a dance to Def Leppard's "Pour Some Sugar on Me". Not too much longer after the dance ended, he spied her coming out onto the floor, still clad in her bustier and panties, working the crowd for extra money.

Spot had downed the rest of his tequila shot and made his way over to Cassie before his brain had even registered his feet's movement.

The blonde girl seemed genuinely surprised to see him. However, just because they knew each other, it did not mean she was not going to take advantaged of his tipsy state. She leaned in, pressing her nearly exposed chest against him, as she whispered her greeting.

For a moment, Spot almost forgot what he was doing. But, a bit of sense returned to him and he shook his head. He pulled a wad of bills from his pocket and, after disentangling a ten from the inner fold, he slipped it in between her cleavage. She was surprised but that surprise turned to understanding when he asked if she would do him a favor by getting Jess to come out and talk with him.

With a bit of liquor in him, he had forgotten the way that she had rebuked him on Christmas Eve.

Cassie said she would try and Spot decided to wait by the bar in case she succeeded. However, not but two songs after that, the opening chords to Quiet Riot's "Cum on Feel the Noize" started and Spot knew that it was time for Jess's final number. She always used that song for her big reveal – and he hated it.

He made his way closer to the front of the stage. As much as he hated it when she went topless at the end of her set when they were dating, he was not about to deny himself a peek now that she had dumped him.

Unfortunately for Spot, he had forgotten that everyone else in the Kit Kat Club was privy to the same sight. And, when some overgrown, middle-aged loser decided to cop a feel on the dancer, Spot got angry.

For the second time that night, his feet moved before his brain did. He was in the face of the man who groped Jess before he knew it.

As the guy stammered his apologies – he either thought that Spot was a bouncer or an incensed boyfriend (which was closer to the truth) – Spot noticed, out of the corner of his eye, that Jess had spied him in the crowd. She had a weird expression on her face during those last few lines of the song, like she was annoyed that he was there instead of glad that he was standing up for her, but, at least, she kept her top on.

Therefore, he was not surprised to see that, after the song ended and she fled off of the stage, she never came out to talk to him.

Part of him wanted to go into the back room and explain his appearance – he did not want to come off as a creepy stalker or anything – but the other part, the sober part, knew he had to return to the table where his new business partners were sitting. As much as he wanted to, he could not leave them by themselves when the club closed.

And now, after taking each of the men to their Uptown apartments, he had finally made it to his own home. Not really how he thought he would end the day, coming home at two in the morning with a slight buzz and a pounding headache, but what could he do?

Beside enter his apartment and slip into bed beside his wife, of course?

Spot sighed as he opened the door. He loved Rae. He definitely did and he had no desire to leave her at all. She was beautiful, she was classy, she was _rich…_ but she was not enough for him. He needed excitement, he needed lust.

He needed that stripper as his girl on the (her) side.

But, Jess, it seemed, made it perfectly clear that she did not want him. And Rae did.

He went inside.

Rae was waiting for him.

--

Jess was quite glad to see, when she made her way to Jack's floor, that there was light seeping out from under his door. Whether it was him or not, someone was awake in that apartment.

_Here's hoping_, she thought to herself as she crossed the fingers on her left hand. Her full lips were formed into a perfect pout as she reached for the door handle. She thought, momentarily, about knocking on the door but then decided that, if the door was open, knocking would ruin the mood she was going for.

Her fingers wrapped around the handle and she pulled down on it – it moved downward. It was not locked. She let out the breath she was holding and slid the door open. The girl did not even poke her head inside the loft to see if anyone was up – she just sauntered right into the room as if she owned the place. However, her gumption was justified when she saw the back of Jack's head tilted forward.

She waited for him to glance over his shoulder and see whoever it was that just entered into the apartment but he did not. He just sat on his tacky couch, focused on whatever it was he was looking at on his coffee table.

_Who knows, _Jess thought to herself as she walked over to the couch, _maybe he's expecting his roommate home or something, so the door opening up doesn't mean anything. Hmmm… I think I'm going to need a bigger way to catch his attention. _A coy smile curved her lips. _I know just what to do. _

Jack was oblivious to her entrance. Leaning forward, scribbling furiously into his notebook, not even the sound of his door sliding open tore his attention away from his work. But, when a pair of lean arms wrapped themselves around his neck – not even Jack could ignore that.

He tensed under her embrace before his common sense kicked in and he jumped up from the couch. Jack pushed forward and broke through the loose hold she had on him before spinning around to face her. "What the hell?"

Jess had not expected him to freak out and fly off of the couch like that. The force of his upward pull, before he broke through her hold, had yanked her forward. She fell over the back of the couch and, when Jack turned to face her, she was laying face-down on the seat of his couch, her butt (and legs) in the air.

Definitely not the impression she wanted to make.

She scrambled to right herself. Using her hands, Jess pushed against the floral print cushions until her arms were extended and her feet were back on the ground. As soon as she was steady, she lifted her hands to her hair. She fluffed it a couple of times before turning her attention to her clothes – in her fall, one of her spaghetti straps had fallen and one of her boobs was almost hanging out.

"Hey," she managed, finally.

Jack could not believe what he was seeing. The girl – Jessica – from the other night was in his apartment and had, basically, just thrown herself at him.

Now, the Jack of pre-Sarah, pre-AIDS times would have been floored to have a pretty stripper sneak into his apartment at this time of night and throw her arms around him. But, this Jack? Yeah, not so crazy about the idea.

"What are you doing here?"

Jess smiled at him – it would have looked innocent if everything about the petite girl did not scream 'look-at-me-I'm-a-stripper' – and pulled something out of the back pocket of her jeans. She lifted it up so that Jack could see it.

It was a little baggy full of white powder.

"I want to go out tonight," she said simply. As if that was enough for him.

But, it was not. Not for Jack Kelly, ex-heroin addict.

Everything might have been alright – a simple 'No thanks, sorry' – if she had not taken out the powder. But she did. And Jack lost it.

"Who do you think you are? Barging in here like that?" he snapped, throwing his hands up in the air as he spoke. "Get out of her, girlie."

His minor outburst rattled Jess and, as a result, she tucked the baggy back into her pants. She was confused – in all her years, no boy (or man) had ever responded to her like that. "I'm sorry – what?"

"You heard me. The door's right over there. Go."

"Why?"

"Don't ask questions. Just leave me alone." _There, that should get her out of here._

"I don't get it. Don't you… don't you want to go out with me?"

She sounded confused. If it was not for the fact that _yes_, he did want to go out with for but _no_, he could not, he might have found the scene a bit humorous. The girl must be very self-centered if she thought she could waltz into his apartment and bring him into whatever life of debauchery it was that she had – it was interesting and a bit flattering to Jack but he knew better. She had to go. If not for his sake, then for hers. Jack was not sure that he would be able to resist her if she continued to stare at him with that lost puppy-dog look.

Jack snorted. "It just doesn't work like that."

A look of realization dawned on her face. She covered her mouth with her hand. "Oh, I get it. You and that other man… you are gay. Oh, I'm such an idiot."

_Huh? _"What? No. Me and Dave ain't gay. But that doesn't make it any different. Just take your powder and get out. Besides, isn't it passed your bedtime?"

Jess dropped her hand and flinched. It was almost as if those words he flung at her were objects; they hurt. "I just thought…"

"You thought wrong," he threw back, almost venomously. As they were standing there, facing off, he had that vision of Jess getting struck down by a bus – just like in his dream; just like Sarah – and he knew that he could not give in. Sure, the girl was pretty. And she was interested in him. But, that did not mean anything.

Jack knew he was taking out his own insecurities on the girl but, this late at night, he was not thinking clearly.

Jess was beginning to think trying to convince this man to go out with her was not the best idea she's ever had. Though he was still undeniably handsome, Jack was staring at her, his brown eyes boring holes through her. He seemed furious. Jess crossed her arms over her middle; it made her feel somewhat secure as he was yelling at her.

"What are you doing here, anyway, Jessica? Are you looking for romance?" he sneered before laughing. It was that annoying laugh he had, that _ah-Ha, _that he used when he did not think something was funny at all – when he was laughing but, at the same time, not laughing. "Come back another day."

Maybe he had gone too far with that last remark. Jess gasped and took a step back.

Jack felt guilty at once. He wanted to say that he did not mean it but he could not. He _did _mean what he had said.

He could not like this girl; he could not act on this attraction. He was too lost – how could he expect to give himself to anyone if he could not find it first?

There was a few seconds of tense silence when the pair just stared at each other, saying nothing at all. Jack did not want to admit it to himself but he could swear that there were tears glittering in her green eyes. Jess just stared back at him, her mouth slightly open, as if she could not believe how he was treating her. Maybe she wanted to say something but, if she did, she kept silent. Instead, she sniffed once and, as if turning her back on him for good, she turned away from him.

She was across the apartment and out the door before he knew it.

Jack just stood there for a few moments, stunned by what had just transpired between him and the girl. He shook his head and, mumbling a few choice curse words under his breath, followed her path to the door. He grasped the inside door handle and with all the strength he could muster, he flung it closed.

There was a thump that followed the slam and a squeak. Then… "Jack… whazzat?" He had woken David up. His voice was thick with sleep – he must have been startled out his dreams when the door was slammed.

"Nothing, Dave. Go back to sleep," he snapped. A little unnecessary considering he was the one whose rash action brought David out of a very deep sleep but Jack did not care about that. At least David had been sleeping – he was pretty sure he would not catch a wink at all.

A snore came from David's corner of the loft. Jack thought that he had already fallen back asleep before…"Butterscotch… is sticky… and tastes good… on elbows."

And, with that comment from a half-asleep David, Jack sat down and let his head fall into his hands. He was not sure if he should laugh or cry.


	12. Will I lose my dignity?

Author's Note: _Like I said yesterday when I finally updated _Diabo_: I. Hate. Writer's. Block. One would think that, given the fact that today was the last day of the semester and I don't have finals until next Monday/Tuesday, I would have boatloads of ideas but… no. Unfortunately, sometime within the last few weeks, I have gone dry. Lovely, eh? Well, I hope you guys like this chapter (if anyone is reading it). Next chapter will have nice Mush/Blink fluff so at least we have that to look forward to. Woot._

Disclaimer: _I do not own, nor stake any claim, to any of the original characters shamelessly borrowed from _Newsies – _they are the property of Disney, © 1992. Any other character, when noted, is property of their respective owner and will be noted in the disclaimer. The core idea to this story – the adaptation of the Broadway musical, _RENT, _is © 1996 to Jonathan Larson._

--

_How can you connect in an age where strangers, landlords, lovers, your own blood cells betray?  
_Because one can never be sure if such a moment could be the last...

December 13, 2006

--

_Will I lose my dignity? Will someone care?_

--

Despite his certainty that he would not fall asleep, Jack eventually did. In fact, he was sound asleep, snoring a bit, when David woke up the next morning (er, afternoon) and started to make breakfast. There was not much food in the house – just some of the bagels (slightly stale) from Christmas and half of a stick of butter that Blink and Mush had brought – so it did not take long for him to decide to throw one of the plain bagels into the microwave to soften it up before sticking it in the toaster oven to toast it.

After the way he had woken Jack up the morning before, David decided to be considerate and let his roommate sleep. He was not sure what exactly had happened last night – or if it had been a dream – but he remembered waking up sometime after midnight to a real loud slamming noise. When he asked what it was, Jack had answered him in a very snippy tone. That meant two things: one, that Jack was still awake at that time (which he could tell by the light that was on in that part of the loft) and two, that Jack was in a bad mood. He was not about to risk having his head bitten off by waking Jack up.

David sliced the bagel open and tossed it into the microwave, setting the ancient box on low for thirty seconds. The microwave whirred loudly as it softened the bread but, when David looked cautiously over his shoulder to see if the noise bothered Jack. It didn't – he was still snoring, his mouth open wide, his head tilted back on one arm of the lumpy couch.

As quietly as he could, David removed the first half of the soggy bagel from the microwave. Unfortunately for him, he underestimated the heat of the bread and, when he picked it up, it burnt his fingertips.

"Damn it," he cursed as he let go of the bagel. The bagel dropped down onto the kitchen floor as he began to blow on his fingers. "Double damn," he added, still puffing his cheeks and blowing on the minor burns, when he saw that the bagel had fallen face down onto the floor.

David bent low and scooped the bagel half up with his free hand. It was not as hot as it had been when he dropped it; he was able to handle the bread without dropping it again although it was still warm to his touch. After blowing on the bagel, dislodging any of the nastiness that had stuck to it, he slid the bagel into one side of the dented metal toaster, confident that, despite the dirty, unwashed floor, it was safe to eat – five second rule and all that. He then grabbed the second half of the bagel from the microwave. It was nowhere near as hot as the first half; David picked it up and added it to the toaster.

Again, David checked to make sure that Jack was still asleep. He had not been quiet when he burned his fingers or when he dropped the bagel onto the floor but it did not matter. Jack had not even stirred yet.

David shrugged and turned his attention back to the toaster. He fiddled with the knob, setting it to three so that the toast would be crunchy but not burnt, and pressed down on the toaster lever. Once he pressed on it, he released it and turned away from the toaster, looking at the wall clock that hung just above the loft's door.

It was already half-past noon – so maybe it was not really breakfast, since he had slept so late, but he _was _hungry – and he promised Blink and Mush that he would attend the three o'clock Life Support meeting at the Community Center again. It had been quite the experience when he went with them on Christmas. The photographs he had taken of the group had come out great and he was anxious to take some more.

And, if Jack was still sleeping before he left, _that's _when he would wake him up. He had somehow promised Blink that he would convince Jack to leave the house for once. He was not sure how he was going to accomplish that but he still had two hours – and David always did think better on a full stomach.

Lifting his nose into the air, he sniffed tentatively. Not only had it been about two minutes since he began the toaster and it had not popped up yet, but he did not smell his bagel cooking at all. Turning around, he groaned. Even though he had pressed the lever down, it did not stay down. Instead of the toaster actually toasting the bagel, it popped it right back up. He had been waiting for nothing.

David stalked back over to the toaster and pushed down on the toaster handle but did not turn around. The bagel popped back up again and he stared mutinously at the toaster. He pressed the handle again, much harder, and dared it not to hold.

As if the toaster was mocking him, the bagel halves stayed down just long enough for David to smile in satisfaction and turn away. As soon as his back was to the contraption, he heard the tell-tale sound of the toaster popping back up.

He exhaled briskly and spun back to face the dented old toaster. He had never had a problem with it before and he could not figure out why it had decided to rebel just when he wanted a bagel. Using the heel of his hand, David pressed down on the lever even harder then he had done. Unfortunately for him, he underestimated his strength. The lever went down but his hand did not stop; it slipped off of the silver lever and continued to head downward until it made contact with the counter.

It hurt, too. "Damn it," he yelled, lifting his hand up and shaking it vigorously as if he could dispel the sudden pain. He was hopping at the same time, moving in a circle, but, when he had gone around enough to face Jack, he paused. Surprisingly, though, that did not wake Jack up either.

Still shaking his hand, though not too concerned with the pain, David tried to figure out how late Jack had been up in order to so out of it this afternoon. He sighed and decided not to worry about it – it's not like he would be able to get his roommate to tell him, anyway, so it was best to leave it alone. He more pressing matters to deal with… like the stupid toaster.

David smirked victoriously when he, cradling his sore wrist, saw that the force he exerted has finally been enough to keep the toaster lever down. He did not want to jinx the appliance by staring at it, so he busied himself with getting a knife out of the sink and grabbing some paper towels to use in lieu of a plate. The butter was already on the counter, melting so that it would be easily spread.

It took a few minutes for the toaster to finish crisping up the bagel – David started to get a little paranoid that he had broken the thing and that he would _never _get to eat his food – before the toaster popped back up with his now-crispy, not-stale bagel. He was careful not to burn himself as he used the rusted silverware to pry the bagel out of the toaster – he was an adult, after all, and did not worry that he would electrocute himself – and slid the bagel onto the sheet of paper towel he had laid out on the counter.

He let the bread cool for a few seconds before spreading the rich butter across the top of the bagel. It was meticulously done, melted butter coating the entire flat sphere of his snack, before he tossed the spent knife back into the sink. The metal on metal made a distinctive _clink_ing noise that he did not even register. Until…

"Dave? Can't you keep it down? I'm trying to get some shut-eye here, Noisy McLoudPants."

Jack, who had been sleeping on his back for most of the night, rolled over onto his side, his face buried into the back of his couch. His voice was slurring – Jack obviously had spent the evening polishing off another of Blink and Mush's Christmas gifts: the Vodka – as he moaned out his objection to David's din. But, hangover or not, when that one slight noise broke his slumber, it awakened his other senses – including his sense of smell. Despite his nose being pressed up against the old sofa (David did not even want to know what that smelt like), Jack sniffed deeply. "Breakfast?"

David had half a mind to hide the bagel halves behind his back and lie to the other man. But, in a way, he felt bad that, regardless of his great care not to bother Jack until later, he had woken him up. Sighing, he held the food out in front of him. "I made bagels. You interested?"

At the mention of bagels, Jack sat up, scratching his head as he yawned. Even from his distance, David could smell that his breath did reek of alcohol. He shook his head and walked forward, offering Jack one of the bagels. If he really did polish off that bottle of Vodka last night, he would need something in his stomach. "Here."

Jack took the bagel and, with one bite, ate half of it. "Fanks," he said, his mouth full of bread. He chewed for a few seconds and gulped it all down, oblivious to David's wide-eyed stare – not that he should have been surprised given that Jack always ate like that. "I needed that."

"Don't mention it," David said, walking over to the table and taking a seat.

Jack rubbed his eyes and pushed his longish sandy hair out of his face. He yawned a second time and let out a burp. "Yeah, needed that, too," he added as he climbed out of the couch and, grabbing the second half of his bagel, joined David at the table. Disregarding a paper towel – and the dirty look that David gave him – Jack placed it on the table and took the seat next to David.

"Lovely, Jack," David said, a bit snidely, as he took a dainty nibble off his own food.

Jack raised an eyebrow at the tiny bites David was taking before cramming the rest of his bagel into his mouth in defiance. When he had swallowed it, he burped a second time and patted his stomach. "My compliments, Dave. I wasn't expecting to wake up to breakfast."

David sniffed. "Considering the scent of alcohol on you, I'm not sure that you expected to wake up at all."

His words hit a chord with Jack – the mention of the booze was enough to remind Jack just why he had drunken himself into a stupor during the late hours of night. It was an escape, trying to put the subject of women entirely out of his mind. That dream that featured Sarah coupled with the way the stripper had come on to him the night before had rattled him and, before he knew it, he was drowning his sorrows. Not that he would admit that to David though, best friend or not. It was much too fun to pick on David and his trouble with women – he did not want David returning the favor. So, instead, he changed the subject.

"I'm surprised, Dave, that you made bagels. I would have thought you were craving butterscotch or something," he said, offhandedly, as he referenced the nonsense that David had spouted during his sleep the night before.

Whether or not that meant something to David, the confused expression on his face told Jack that he was not admitting to anything. "Huh?"

Jack waved his hand. "Never mind." He snorted. "Just something I thought I heard you say."

"Whatever you say, Jack," David answered, continuing to eat his food. However, when he saw that Jack's brown eyes were staring intently at the half-eaten bagel in his hand, he sighed and held it out. "You want this too?"

"Don't mind if I do," Jack said, a cheeky grin on his face before he shoved that into his mouth as well. "Let me know if there is something I can do for you, Dave."

_Bingo. _Now, if that was not an opportunity for David to take… He cleared his throat and wiped his hands on his Scooby Doo boxer shorts. "Well, now that you mention it…"

"You know, you weren't supposed to take me up on that offer, Dave. It was your cue to say that it was nothing."

David rolled his eyes. As if that was something he would do. He had already used up his generosity quota for the day by giving Jack his breakfast. "Yeah. Anyway, Mush and Blink invited me to go to another one of their Life Support meetings before we head out to see Annie's show and they made me promise that I would drag you along. Now, do you come peacefully or do I pull you by your hair?" Not the way he wanted to convince Jack to leave the apartment but hunger did that to him sometimes.

Jack started to shake his head before David had even finished asking him. "No, Dave. I ain't about to go to one of those woe-is-me-I-have-AIDS parties. I can feel sorry for myself here, thank you very much. I don't need your help or anybody else's. And I definitely don't need to see your ex reciting what she calls 'poetry'."

David crumpled his empty paper towel up into a ball as he rose from the table. When he spoke, his voice was near emotionless. Jack's words hurt almost as much as the hot bagel had. "Whatever. I'll just tell them all that you're being a jackass, as usual. I'm sure they'll understand."

Rising his middle finger up at David's back, Jack scowled. And the morning had started so promising, too. Those bagels were good.

--

"Jack, I'm getting ready to leave," David said, unnecessarily, as he shimmied on his overcoat and grabbed his coat. "If you want to actually… I don't know… _live _life, I'd really appreciate it if you came with me." He did not need to see Jack's face to see that his words annoyed him – which was precisely why he spoke to him in such a demeaning manner. "If you change your mind, the meeting is down at the Ryder Community Center. Room three."

"Bye, Dave," was his flat response.

David sighed, quite loudly so as to make Jack feel at least a bit remorseful, before sliding the door open. He cast one last glance behind him as he left the apartment before shaking his head and slamming the door closed behind him. He heard the bang that the door made behind him and, for some reason, felt like he had heard that noise recently. David shook his head, again. Given that Jack never left the apartment, and never had visitors, he must have been imagining the noise.

He was not imagining the noise, of course. And, when the sound of the door slamming closed met Jack's ear, he remembered just how he had slammed it shut the night before right after he had kicked Jessica out of the apartment.

Jack groaned and dropped his head in his hands. Not only did he have a minor headache from his hangover – he normally was good at holding his liquor but, shoot, that had been a _lot _of liquor he imbibed in order to forget that stupid dream – but now he was feeling guilty for treating that girl so harshly. She had no way of knowing his history – she was just being friendly. And what had he done?

There was nothing for it now, though. He was not sure which was her apartment and he knew that, after his attitude from the night before, the girl would never come visit him again.

"Good one, Kelly," he said out loud, chastising himself almost. "For the first time in two years you a cute girl – a stripper, no less – hitting you and you go all Cujo on her. Nice. And then you go and piss off one of the only friends you have. Dave is always there for you and you treat him like shit."

He smacked himself in the head, momentarily forgetting his headache, and groaned when the action only incensed the throbbing in his head. "Damn. You're a genius, too."

Jack stood up from his couch and, rubbing his forehead, began to pace back and forth across the center of the apartment. As he began to sober up, the guilt only intensified: guilt towards blowing off Jessica, guilt towards ignoring Blink and Mush, guilt towards taking out his frustrations on David.

He did not know what to do. He could sit down and work on his writing but he knew that that would be fruitless – anger was a good inspiration, not self-pity.

He could wash the sink full of dishes that had been there for a few days now. He could even, for the first time since Christmas Eve, take a shower and clean himself up. He had been wearing the same underwear since Saturday and the band of the boxers was beginning to chafe.

_Or, _he thought, hardly believing that he was even considering this option, _I could even head down to the community center and humor Dave._

_At least, then, _one _of us would be happy…_

--

"Hey guys."

Blink, who had been making nice with Mush's tonsils when David interrupted them, pulled his face back and, smiled widely, the lipstick marks around his lips making him appear clown-like. "Davey, my boy. Where's your second half?"

Mush pulled a tissue out of the top of her blouse and used it to loving wipe the stains from Blink's pale skin. Out of the corner of one her dark eyes, she saw David scowl and adopted a soothing tone. "Don't worry, sugar. From what Blink told me about him, I didn't expect him to come down here. I'm sure it'll do him good but you can't force him if he doesn't want to leave the apartment."

David nodded. "I know. It's just…"

"Don't waste another thought on it. He'll come around when he's ready."

Blink used one of his fingers to trace Mush's jaw line, his one eye focused solely on her. "Listen to my Angel, Dave. She knows what she's talking about – she's a smart one."

David tried not to roll his eyes at the overly lovey-dovey scene before him. He made a mental note never to act so cutesy with his next girlfriend – he was also pretty sure that he had never acted so nauseatingly when he had been with Annie. "I know. I'll worry about it later. As for now, it's nearly three o'clock. Should we go in now?"

Blink looked like he wanted nothing more than to continue his excavation of Mush's mouth but she was nodding so he really had no choice. "Alright. Let's go before all the good seats are taken."

The trio entered into the third room of the community center in time to see that the old man, Kloppman, had already asked the group to grab a chair and make a circle. Blink went ahead of them and grabbed two seats – once for him and one for Mush – and set them in the gap between Kloppman and Tony. David had already decided that, like the time before, he wanted to stand in order to get the best shots possible with his Nikon.

"Welcome," Kloppman greeted them all, his watery blue eyes landing on the young people sitting around him. Just like last time, there were five people counting neither David nor Kloppman): Tony, Skittery, Charlotte, Blink and Mush. Since there were no extra faces, Kloppman quickly began the affirmation.

Once that was complete, Kloppman smiled and opened his hands toward the middle of the group. "So, would anyone would like to share today?"

_He speaks so softly but sounds so wise_, David thought as he took a profile shot of the meeting leader. _And to think he gives up his time to help all these guys. I'm sure he would do good for Jack, too… if that bonehead actually let anyone help him. God knows that he won't let me…_

It was quiet for a moment before the only (real) girl in the circle raised her hand shyly. Charlotte's long chestnut hair had fallen forward in her cloudy green eyes but, after she lifted her hand, she brushed her hair back so that her brown skin was visible. "I've been worrying a lot lately, Kloppy."

Kloppman nodded before gesturing for the girl to continue.

She sighed. "I mean, this is the thing… I've been feeling so weak lately, and I've been trying to sleep it off. But, every time I wake up, and remember how my life is… I just get nervous and… I think about the future."

"That's good, Charlie," Kloppman said, shooting a sharp look at Skittery (he had snorted and crossed his arms at Charlotte's admission). "It's good to think of the future, it means that you're not dwelling on the illness and living in the past."

The young girl shook her head. "It's not like that, Kloppy," she said, addressing the man with what David had learned was an affectionate version of his last name. "They're not happy thoughts. I wonder if… you see… will I lose my dignity? Will someone care? Will this blasted disease rob me of everything I have – my pride, my strength, my sanity – before it robs me of my life?"

The quiet resumed and David, aware that the sound of his camera snapping away would break up such a poignant moment, lowered the Nikon.

However, before Kloppman could respond to her fear, or any other members of the group for that matter, a noise from outside the room drew their attention. Someone was attempting to open the door.

David glanced down at his watch. It was close to quarter after three. Whoever it was, they were late. But, when the door finally open and a hesitant young man poked his head into the room, David understood why.

"Hi. Uh… this is the Life Support thingy, right?"

Jack Kelly, after all, was never on time.


	13. Sunny Santa Fe would be nice

Author's Note: _Wow, that was a bit of a wait,_ _wasn't it? And, despite that wait, I still feel like I don't like this chapter. I knew from the beginning that I was going to have a hard time with this – I wanted to do the Santa Fe scene justice – but it just took forever. But, whether I'm extremely happy with it or not, this chapter is finally done and I get to focus on some nice MushxBlink action in the next chapter. And then the Performance Art. Oh, lordy, I'm already dreading that one ;) But, at least, this one is done. Now it's time to go ahead and poke Shoe, hehe. It's her turn to update now ;)_

Disclaimer: _I do not own, nor stake any claim, to any of the original characters shamelessly borrowed from _Newsies – _they are the property of Disney, © 1992. Any other character, when noted, is property of their respective owner and will be noted in the disclaimer. The core idea to this story – the adaptation of the Broadway musical, _RENT, _is © 1996 to Jonathan Larson._

--

_How can you connect in an age where strangers, landlords, lovers, your own blood cells betray?  
_Because one can never be sure if such a moment could be the last...

January 4, 2007

--

_Let's open up a restaurant in Santa Fe,  
Sunny Santa Fe would be nice…_

--

Blink slapped Jack on the back of his worn leather coat as he followed him out into the main lobby of the Ryder Community Center. "Man, I almost shit a brick when I saw you walk in that room. How the hell did Dave ever convince you to leave your hidey-hole?"

David, who was just glad that Jack showed up – and, to be quite honest, was probably more surprised than Blink and Mush put together when Jack joined in at the meeting – walked forward and, in a way that was probably too queer to be considered straight, slung his right arm around Jack's shoulder. "Yeah, Jack. How did I convince you?"

There was a mild snarl as Jack picked David's arm off of him and dropped it. "Do that again, Dave, and I will be forced to yank off your damn arm, lather it with fucking butterscotch and make you eat it. Capisce?"

David pulled his hand back, knowing that Jack didn't mean anything that he said. How could he? He sounded like a complete lunatic. What was it with Jack's sudden fixation with butterscotch, all of a sudden, anyways?

"Oh, boys," Mush giggled coyly as she brought up the rear. Blink fell back and, mimicking David's gesture, placed his arm around Mush, drawing her close. Mush looked at Blink's profile. "Isn't Jack just the cutest? Him, with his long hair, leather jacket and fancy talk, looking like a real life version of Uncle Jesse."

If looks could kill, Mush would have fallen out of her three inch heels just then and died on the street right outside the Community Center. Jack was glaring so angrily at her that David, who had looked wounded when Jack snarled at him, felt better.

He lifted his camera up and, as Jack continued to wish death upon Mush with his eyes – who was to busy snuggling up to Blink to notice – David grinned. "Say cheese, Jack."

Before Jack could cross his eyes and make a face, David snapped a picture of his pouting profile. Blinded by the flash, Jack lowered his eyes and mumbled curses under his breath.

David swiveled the camera forward and found Blink and Mush in the viewfinder. Unlike Jack, those two did not seem to mind if they were photographed. Inherently photogenic, the couple automatically paused and adopted matching smiles as David turned his camera on them. He took their picture and, right away, they relaxed and started to walk down the street.

David was not done with his camera. It had been a good couple of days – he blamed it on the holidays that had just passed – without him exercising his need to photograph everything in sight. Apart from the night when Spot had their electricity cut, and the last two Life Support meetings he had tagged along on, his camera had been suffering from neglect.

It was a cold and dreary day, with the grey clouds overcast melding into the too-tall skyscrapers that littered the City. It had snowed a few days before Christmas and much of the street had a bit of the dirty, once-white slush clumped alongside it. It made for an interesting photo opportunity; many of the tourists who came to Manhattan assumed that it was some magical place but David knew better.

While walking alongside (the still pouting) Jack, a few paces behind Mush and Blink, David kept the camera right up at his nose. He took a few shots, trying to capture the real, gritty essence of the City. He got a patch of black slush with about five or six cigarette butts standing straight up – a makeshift ashtray, really – and a garbage can that had overflowed with McDonald's refuse. There was a Christmas Eve circular to some big name department store, glued to the damp sidewalk, one rather large boot print stamped right in the center.

And there, at the corner of the street, there was an old Black woman, kind of heavy, wearing worn clothes, sleeping on top of a layer of cardboard. His heart pained only slightly at the sight of her but he took the picture any way. The homeless were a part of everyday life in the City; unfortunately, you get used to it. Besides, you never know when it'll be your turn out on the street.

His eye glued to his camera, David did not notice it right away when Mush (and, because he was all but glued to her hip, Blink) paused. In fact, he did not notice it until he bumped right into Blink's backside and the camera hit him. "Ow," he whined and lowered his toy. He looked out to see what had caused them both to stop – because only tourists cross when the little man is white; locals cross the street whenever the hell they feel like it – and saw that there was a crew of policemen, about three from the NYPD, standing above the sleeping woman. One of them, a big burly man with a thick mustache, was poking her with his billy club, trying to wake her up.

David pushed in front of Blink and Mush, his camera back up. His finger poised above the top button. "Smile for Ted Koppel, officers." He snapped the picture. "You wouldn't want to start up anything like the Rodney King incident last year, would you?"

The mustachioed policeman turned to look at David but seemed to think better of it – most likely he was thinking back to the LA riots from the end of April. He shook his billy club warningly at the young man but said nothing. He just nudged the woman – now awake, though she was still lying on the ground – in her hole-filled shoe and walked away, his two peers following behind him.

David lowered the camera and felt a bit proud of himself. However, the pride did not last long when the homeless woman struggled to get to her feet and, once she was standing, basically turned on him. "Who the fuck do you think you are? Do I look like I need some help from you, white boy?"

Mush took step forward, her hand outstretched in a gesture of peace. "Easy, sugar, easy. He was just trying—"

The woman snorted and spit at David's feet. "Trying, my ass. Don't go thinking that your fancy artistic ways," she sneered, pointing at him with every word, "are going to do me any fucking good." She spread her arms out above her. "This whole mother fucking area is full of artists." She lowered her hands and stared hard at David. "Hey, artist? You got a dollar?" When David, ashamed and abashed, turned his head away from her, she smirked. "Didn't think so."

Jack took charge of the situation. They didn't need to put up with this lady's crap. "Whatever," he said, grabbing hold of David's coat sleeve. "Forget this bullshit, Dave. Let's go," he announced, as he dragged the still stupefied man across the street. Mush smiled sadly and followed them. Blink just flipped the homeless woman his middle finger as she settled back onto the ground.

--

None of them really said anything until they had gone through the subway turnstile and had settled in their car – David, Jack and Mush sitting, Blink standing up, hanging onto the pole. In his more Blink-style clothes – he swore that it was Mush who dressed him up as a flaming pirate – one would be hard-pressed to tell that he was queer. He was even making lovey-dovey faces at the best looking girl in the car; it was just that the girl happened to be a dude in drag.

Mush did not like the quiet so, in that unassuming way she had, she decided to break up the silence. " New York City," she said, smiling, her arms outstretched, mocking the crass way the homeless woman had done it. "There's no place like home." It was strange, hearing Mush sound so sarcastic. The others must have started to rub off on her.

Blink pointed at her. "You tell them, girl."

"Can it get any worse?"

Blink shook his head. "Nope. This shit hole is the bottom of the barrel, if you ask me. Absolute fucking bottom."

Jack nodded in agreement; David just thought the way that Blink was hanging onto the pole made him look like a Chippendale's dancer. Trying to push the accusing image of that woman out of his head, he brought his camera up and started taking pictures.

"Hell, any place is better than here. But you know what place would be best?"

Jack jumped in on the conversation. " Santa Fe."

Blink nodded. " Santa Fe," he agreed, touching his nose with his finger.

" Santa Fe," Mush said, quite breathily.

David snapped another picture. To be honest, he could not imagine living anywhere else but New York. But he let Jack and Blink have their fantasies. Sometimes, it was all they had.

Despite the gentle – and, sometimes not so gentle – rocking of the subway car, Mush stood up and took her place next to Blink's side. "Tell me about what we would do in Santa Fe, Blink."

"Well, there's really only one thing that we can do in a place like Santa Fe."

Jack, for the first time since he met up with them that afternoon, was smiling. "Of course there is." He laughed to himself. "Go on, Blink. Tell her."

"We got to open up a restaurant."

"A restaurant?"

"A restaurant," Blink affirmed. "You know, some quaint little restaurant out in Santa Fe. Tex Mex, I figure. Nothing else would be right. You," he said, looking Mush up and down, his lips curving a bit, "can be the chef, cooking for our diners. And the entertainment, too. We would have lines out the door to come see Mush on her drums."

Mush laughed, a tinkling sound that made the rest of them grin. David snapped his camera. It would be an interesting picture. You have Mush, her hands just below Blink's, as he held onto the same pole. Her head was lifted back, her wig fanning out behind her, her mouth open widely as she laughed.

When she had composed herself, she placed her hand on Blink's chest. "What would you do, Blink?"

He straightened himself up, pretending to tie a tie that did not exist. "I? I would be the maitre'd. Sit down all of our many customers and chat them up. Tell them about the history of their fair city, so my dumb ass history degree doesn't go to waste."

Blink nodded and reached over Mush, took the seat next to Jack. He held his hand out to Mush, she took it and he pulled her onto his lap. "Hey, Blink. We should do it. Let's open up a restaurant in Santa Fe."

He placed a gentle kiss against her neck. "Sunny Santa Fe would be nice."

"You know, I used to tell Sarah that I would whisk her away to Santa Fe," Jack interrupted, his smile all but faded from his face. Whether it was the discussion of his dream city or watching the happy couple interact as they dreamed up their own future, Jack looked as if he was hurting. "I used to say that the sun was bigger and she would always remind me that it was the same sun." He paused. "Everything just seems like it be bigger there, you know."

Dave heard the mention of his sister and placed his Nikon N90 back into his lap. It was rare to hear Jack speak about Sarah lately. Sometimes he wondered if she was being pushed out of his memory; at other times, David thought that Jack dwelled too much on the dead girl. Either way, he thought it was unhealthy.

Right then, though, he was not sure if it would be better to let them continue in their discussion or change the subject entirely. But, before David had the chance to try to remedy the awkwardness of the situation, Mush piped up.

"We can bring Jack with us to Santa Fe, right Blink? You told me he's a writer. He can do the menu for us," she said, reaching down and patting Jack's leg. Jack, momentarily forgetting that Mush really was a guy, seemed not to mind the gesture... too much.

"Hey, Santa Fe, wait for me," Jack said, his brown eyes losing the sadness that had been there only moments ago. It had always been his dream to head out west. Maybe it still was.

David smiled to himself as he watched – not really a participant, more of a spectator – to the three of them continue to talk about this fictitious restaurant. He was feeling really appreciative towards Mush right then; the more time that David spent around Mush, the more he liked her. She was not only good for Blink. She was good for them all.

_An angel to the first degree. _

--

The subway pulled up their stop, just outside of Avenue A. David, who still did not particularly like the direction that the conversation had taken, was the first one to notice – Jack, Blink and Mush were too involved in planning their menus and describing the interior of one of many of their imagined four star restaurants.

Though he was still very pleased with the way that Mush had enticed Jack to lose that sourpuss attitude, it unnerved him to hear them discuss, quite seriously, how it would be to live in Santa Fe. At the beginning of the conversation, it had been amusing to listen to them plan but, as the subway slowed to their stop, the talk was growing much less fantastical and much more realistic – as if they really planned to build this restaurant one day.

What would he do if they left him?

"Hey guys… and girl," he added when one of Mush's drawn on eyebrows seemed to rise in amusement. "We're here."

She slid off out of her seat – Blink's lap – and offered him one of her perfectly manicured fingernails. "Come on, lover. We wouldn't want to miss our precious stop."

"Oh, yes. Because it would be a shame to be stuck on the subway. I mean, it's not like it doesn't go back around or anything. Or we couldn't just get off at the next stop and walk," Blink said, playing along as he let Mush pull him up from his slouched position. "You know, the world would just end," he continued, snorting almost as he struggled to keep a straight face, "if we did not get off the subway right now."

Jack just smirked to himself as he placed his leather jacket over his shoulders. Mush was giggling. David scowled.

"Yeah, yeah, yuck it up," David muttered as he hoisted his Nikon N90 up and placed the strap around his neck. He still continued to hold onto it though; no matter how long he lived in the Alphabet City of Manhattan, he was always a bit paranoid that someone would come along and just grab at his camera. And what sort of photographer would he be if he didn't have a camera? "Just because I'm the guy who actually pays attention to what's going on instead of being lost in some fantasy world."

Mush blew a simple kiss at him while Blink laughed. David led it slide; if there was something that David noticed about the way Blink was acting now, compared to when he left the city, it was that he was so much more… likable? Blink had always had a bit of a sarcastic streak – in order to protect himself against unwelcome jabs at his sexuality, Blink had been snarky from the womb – but, with Mush around, he was… softer, almost. Mush really was quickly becoming one of his favorite people.

And David was not about to bring the old bitch back. Jack, however, was a different case. Jack would be bitter regardless.

He waited until Jack had followed the three of them out onto the subway platform and taken a few steps up the stairs before going after him. He poked him in the back. It was time to get his mind off of Santa Fe and back on New York. "What are you doing now, Jack? I mean, this is a once in a year event, you leaving the apartment. You up to seeing Annie's show with us tonight or are you going to poop out?"

Jack started shaking his head earnestly as soon as he heard Annie's name. The way he saw it, he had already made up to David for his attitude that morning by going to that AIDS pity party. He was not about to resign himself to watching Twister at her performance art. In fact, he would rather have a round two with Jessica barging in on him again. And _that _had ended up with one hell of a hangover.

But, before he had the chance to answer, Mush turned around. "Of course Jacky will come with us. We insist. Right, Blink?"

Blink's arms were around her waist, his chin resting on her shoulders. "Hey, buddy. You don't think we're going to let you slip away from us, do you?" He laughed. "If we have to put up with Twist's show, you're coming along, too. We can suffer together."

Jack sighed and glanced over at David. The younger man's blue eyes were dancing in amusement. He knew that Jack was only moments from giving in.

He was right.

Jack turned his face away from the rest of them all as they emerged onto the busy street. "Okay. All right. I'll go." He shrugged his shoulders heavily as if this was the hardest thing he has had to do in a long time. And, considering how over the top Twister was when doing a "performance", it probably was.


End file.
